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MEMOIRS ,„^p. 



OP 



CELEBRATED WOMEN 



OF ALL COUNTRIES, 



BY 



MADAME J U N O T. 



WITH PORTRAITS BY THE MOST EMINENT MASTERS. 



LONDON : 
EDWARD CHURTON, 26, HOLLES STREET. 

1834. 



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CONTENTS. 



MARIA LETIZIA RAMOLINI BONAPARTE . . . PAGE 1 

ANNA ZINGHA5 QUEEN OF MATAMBA ... 8 

LADY JANE GRAY . . . . . . . 28 

DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO ..... 34 

BEATRICE CENCI ....... 65 

CATHERINE THE FIRST QUEEN OF RUSSIA . . . 82 

^ ANN BOLEYN ........ 113 

BARONESS DE STAEL HOLSTEIN .... 134 

CHARLOTTE CORDAY f-^ . . . . . .153 

JOSEPHINE BONAPARTE ^"^^^ . . . . . 164 

MARY THE CATHOLIC, QUEEN OF ENGLAND . . . 172 

MARINA MNISZECH 184 

CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN . . . . . 227 

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU .... 250 
MARIE ANTOINEITE Ix^"^ ..... 



257 t 



MARY OF MEDICIS . . . . . . S12 



^ 



LIVES. 



OF 



CELEBRATED WOMEN. 



MARIA LETIZIA BONAPARTE, 

MOTHER OF NAPOLEON EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH. 

Maria Letizia Ramolini Bonaparte was born in the 
year 1750, at Ajaccio, in Corsica. The Ramolini family is of 
noble origin ; its descent is traced from tlie Counts of Colalto. 
The member of it who first settled in Corsica, had married 
the daughter of a doge of Genoa, and received great and ho- 
nourable marks of distinction from that republic. Madame 
Letizia's mother contracted a second marriage with a Swiss, 
a native of Basle. ^ He was a Protestant ; and when Ma- 
dame Ramolini married him, she insisted upon his changing 
his religion. He accordingly abjured the Protestant faith, and 
became a member of the Roman church. Cardinal Fesch, who 
is only half-brother to Madame Letizia, was the sole issue of this 
marriage. 

Mademoiselle Letizia Ramolini was one of the most cele- 
brated beauties in Corsica. After the pacification of that island in 



2 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

4^\1768, slie married Charles Bonaparte, who, though an intimate 
friend of Paolo, was always pure and honourable in his conduct. 
I shall not here repeat what I have written elsewhere^ on the 
noble origin of the Bonaparte family. After the lustre given 
by Napoleon to his now immortal name, I think it would be 
out of place to hunt among genealogical parchments for the pur- 
pose of deciphering some old chronicle, or family legend, giving 
an account of his ancestors. What does it matter to posterity 
whether Napoleon was of gentle lineage or not ? Noble birth is 
not indispensable to a conqueror, and Napoleon conquered the 
world ! Nevertheless, it is true that his origin was not only 
noble, but of the highest class of nobility ; and from Nicholas 
Bonaparte,^ banished from Florence as a Gibelin in 1268, down 
to Charles Bonaparte, the genealogical tree of the Bonaparte 
family bears seventeen noble generations. I certainly should 
not here mention this useless nobility of Napoleon's family, did I 
not remember with feelings of bitter disgust, that the man who, 
during twenty years, had been the hero of the world, became, 
in 1814, under the poisoned tongues of those who in his re- 
verse of fortune basely calumniated him, a man of unknown and 
obscure descent. He was, they said, the son of an usher, and 
his name was Buonaparte. When I consider, under the ex- 
citement of a contempt I cannot subdue, that such trash was 
first written and published by a man of superior talent, I prefer 
imitating the noble silence of the hero's mother. 

It was almost amid civil war and its attendant horrors of 
strife and bloodshed, that Charles Bonaparte married the sub- 
ject of this memoir. Letizia Ramolini followed her hus- 
band, and shared his dangers. Her mind is of a stamp to 
bear her through the most trying difficulties, and she overcomes 
them by her superior energy. Her eight children, who survived 
a much greater number born from this marriage, were all French 
subjects, for they came into being after the annexation of Cor- 
sica to France. I here give their names in the order of their 
birth : — 



MARIA LETIZIA BONAPARTE. 3 

.4^r>^^ ^ ... 5^ 

.)(-I. Joseph Bonaparte, at first King of the Two Sicilies, ^t"**^' 
afterwards King of Spain and the Indies — and always an honest ^tdz 
man. _y^.. 

II. NAPOLEON. ---- 

III. Marie-Anne Eliza, Grand-Duchess of Tuscany. 

IV. LuciEN, who, though he remained in private life, was 
a man of as great and noble mind as his brothers who ascended 
thrones, — for he was free and independent. 

V. Ma:iie Paulette, Princess Borghese, Duchess of 
Guastalla. 

VI. Louis, King of Holland, who preferred retirement and 
virtue, to a throne with despotism. 

VII. Annonciade Caroline, Grand-Duchess of Berg and 
Cleves, and afterwards Queen of the Two Sicilies. 

VIII. Jerome, King of Westphalia and Prince of Mont- 
ford. 

It was during one of Charles Bonaparte's journeys to the 
Court of France, as deputy of the Corsican nobles, that he was 
attacked with schirrus of the stomach. He was advised to go to 
Montpelier, where he died, in the arms of his eldest son Joseph 
and his brother-in-law Fesch, on the 24th of February 1785.* 
He left his widow and eight children totally unprovided for. Ma- 
dame Bonaparte, whose fame has always been unsullied, devoted 
her whole life to the education of those of her children whom the 
Government did not take charge of; for it is well known that 
Napoleon was brought up at Brienne, and Eliza at St. Cyr. 

Popular injustice, which always follows closely upon great 
political convulsions, having forced Madame Bonaparte to quit 
Corsica, she had to undergo all the anxiety which a mother 
experiences when her children are in danger. Obliged to leave 
Ajaccio in the middle of the night, in order to avoid the rage of 
an infuriated populace, from whom Napoleon, then an artil- 
lery officer, had already escaped — she crossed ton-ents and 
mountains, and penetrated through intricate forests, until at 
length she reached Calvy, and with her four children found an 

B 2 



4 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

asylum in the house of M. Laurenzo Giubeya. Hence she em- 
barked for Provence, where she settled, first at Lavalette, near 
Toulon, and afterwards at Marseilles. 

From this time her courage never failed. She is in my opi- 
nion a most remarkable woman — perhaps the most remarkable 
I ever knew — for her courageous firmness in misfortune, her digni- 
fied and admirable mildness in prosperity, and her resignation under 
the bitter affliction she has borne during the last eighteen years. 
For, knowing what she now suflPers, I cannot at all compare this 
latter period with that dming which she was only unfortunate. 
This is a different and more bitter trial ; and if the accents of 
despair have sometimes been wrung from the lacerated bosom of 
Napoleon's mother, who among us can be surprised ? 

Oh ! how often have I seen her, whose countenance is habi- 
tually so calm and serious, smile with sweet emotion as she re- 
lated the birth of Napoleon ! How would she dwell upon each 
remarkable particular of his entrance into the world, which took 
place almost without giving her pain ! It seemed as if she would 
have said — " He will never give me a moment of pain ; for I 
suffered none fi-om him, even at the time when every woman is 
obliged to suffer 1"^ 

Poor mother ! — and she was doomed to weep over his death- 
throes of seven years' duration ! — in her old age, when years 
of sorrow, rather than the hand of time, had bleached her 
locks and fun-owed her lovely features, she was doomed to 
pine far from her native land, deprived even of the consolation 
of weeping over the gi-ave of her son, buried on a rocky hill in 
the midst of the ocean, and at a distance of five or six thousand 
miles ! 

When Joseph Bonaparte was appointed ambassador to the 
Roman republic, his mother accompanied him on his mission. She 
afterwards returned to Paris, and lived at his house in the Rue du 
Rocher, the same in which he was residing on the famous 18th 
of Brumaire. {She was always a kind mother, and a friend 
to the afflicted ; and she defended, against the displeasure of her 



MARIA LETIZIA BONAPARTE. 5 

son, those of liis family whom she deemed oppressed, i Thus, 
Jerome found her not only an affectionate parent, but a protec- 
tress ; and when Lucien, exiled by his brother in consequence of 
his marriage with Madame Jouberton, withdrew to Rome, his 
kind mother followed him thither to afford him consolation., 
The Emperor, irritated at this preference, did not at first include 
her name in the titles given to the members of the imperial 
family. It was not till five months after, that she received 
the title of Madame Mere, and her household was formed. 
She then returned to Paris, and inhabited the old Hotel de 
Brienne, which had formerly belonged to Lucien.^ The Empe- 
ror gave her an appanage of five hundred thousand francs a 
year, which certainly was not a mine of wealth, as some have 
since stupidly asserted. It was not until 1808, when Jerome 
was created King of Westphalia, that Madame Mere was 
allowed a million of francs for the expenses of her household. 
She maintained an honourable establishment : her ladies of honour 
alone cost her nearly a hundred and fifty thousand francs a year, 
and the rest of her household was in the same proportion. It 
was only, therefore, during the six years which followed her increase 
of income, that she could economise sums of sufficient magnitude 
to be worth attention. But when it is known that ever since the 
misfortunes of her family, she has constantly given pecuniary 
assistance to those of her children to whom France, in de- 
fiance of its obligations to them, does not blush to remain in 
debt, it may reasonably be asked how she could have laid by the 
seventy millions so liberally talked of, six months ago, in several 
of the French journals ? Such reports are equally absurd and 
contemptible. 

Ever since the disasters of 1815, Madame Mere has resided 
at Rome, where she lives in a dignified and unassuming manner. 
Though wholly absorbed by her grief, she scarcely ever utters a 
complaint, and remains in strict seclusion. She sees only the 
members of her own family and such foreigners of the highest 
distinction as urgently request to be introduced to her. But 



6 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

she leads a life of solitude, and it is untrue that she keeps open 
house. Her half-brother, the Cardinal, spends every evening 
with her. Whilst the Princess Borghese was alive, she was also 
a constant visitor to her mother,'' as was likewise Lucien when 
at Rome ; but he habitually resided at Tusculum. 

The most poignant of her present afflictions, is the fact that 
the Emperor's remains have not been restored to France. 
It is a source of pain which embitters the last fleeting moments 
of her approach to eternity ; and of this I will adduce a remark- 
able proof. 

The news of the revolution of July 1830 gave her a mental 
shock which is easily accounted for ; her grandson was still alive, 
and at Vienna ! In a short time she became so dangerously ill, 
that she performed the last duties of religion, and received the 
extreme unction. 

She was in that state which immediately precedes dissolution. 
Her family stood round her bed. Her brother, her children, 
and her daughters-in-law, looked upon her and wept as they per- 
ceived her praying ; for they were but too well acquainted with 
the particular feeling which, in her dying bosom, absorbed every 
other. The Prince of Montford, having been detained by the 
arrival of a courier from France, had not yet joined this solemn 
»< femily-meeting. Scarcely had he read in the Paris papers an ac- 
count of the decree which would have done honour to the French 
nation had it been executed, when he ran to his mother s palace,^ 
entered her bedchamber, and gently approaching the bed : 

" Mother,"" said he in a whisper, " do you hear me ?''"' She 
made a sign in the affirmative. 

" Well ! the Chamber has just issued a decree for the re- 
placing of the Emperor's statue on the top of the colmnn.'" 

Mada3ie Mere made no reply ; but something extraordinary 
seemed passing within her. She clasped her hands — her eyes 
continued closed — she was evidently praying, — and big tears 
rolled down her cheeks ! They were tears of joy ] Alas ! since 
this period, her eyelids have been long corroded by the burning 
tears of an indescribable and unparalleled grief. 



MARIA LETIZIA BONAPARTE. 7 

An hour after she received this intelligence, she asked for 
some broth, and in two days quitted her bed. 

The effect produced upon her by this circumstance, may give 
some idea of her feelings at finding no end to the anathema cast 
upon the cold and senseless clay of her son. Good God ! ought 
not the tears of this venerable mother, now eighty-three years of 
age, to soften the hearts of those who have no longer any cause to 
tremble before the heroes bones, and might display their gene- 
rosity at so very little cost ? 

Madame Letizia has always been honoured and respected 
by all who have had an opportunity of knowing her and appreci- 
ating her worth. I now consider her only in the light of one of 
those high-minded Roman matrons — Agrippina, the widow of 
Germanicus, weeping over an urn and calling upon Heaven for 
vengeance— and Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi ; — and when 
my thoughts associate her image with that of Lucien, her resem- 
blance to Cornelia becomes still more striking. 



* The second husband of Madame Bonaparte's mother was captain in 
one of the Swiss regiments in the service of France, stationed in Corsica. 
This accounts for Cardinal Fesch being much younger than his half-sister. 

- I gave every particular on this subject in the second and third volumes 
of my Memoirs. 

^ Nicholas Bonaparte is the founder of the Bonaparte family in Corsica. 

"* My father and mother vi^ere at Montpelier when Charles Bonaparte 
died, and their friendly attentions were of great use on that melancholy 
occasion. 

5 Madame Bonaparte had left home to go to mass on the morning of the 
15th of August, but being seized with labour pains she was forced to return. 
There was no time to prepare her bed, and Napoleon was born upon a piece 
of tapestry representing a scene from the Iliad. 

^ This hotel is at present appropriated to the War-minister. 

7 When the present Duke of Hamilton, then Marquis of Douglas, was at 
Rome, he was very assiduous in his visits to Madame Mere, who was 
extremely partial to him. 

^ Madame Mere resides at present, and has resided for several years 
past, in a beautiful palace near the Palazzo di Venezia, on the Corso at Rome. 



Z I N G H A, 

QUEEN OF MATAMBA AND ANGOLA. 

Of all the studies to which we apply ourselves, that of history 
is perhaps the most attractive. There, man studies man, and 
learns to know himself. If we tm-n this immense mirror towards 
the past, towards distant countries, and towards nations almost 
unknown, and examine the events that have there succeeded 
each other, the mind is confounded at seeing the human passions 
appear under so many and such various forms. Whether the 
great lever of any moral or political couMikion be good or evil, 
the man who studies the brazen and imperishable leaves of 
history, Avill learn that, in all places and ages of the world, the 
mind possesses faculties ever ready to assume a new form in 
favour either of crime or of virtue. 

Among the most remarkable periods which unfold their pages 
to us in the great book of time, there are some more particularly 
distinguished by their effect upon the ages which followed them. 
The sixteenth century is one of these.^ The separation of the 
two Christian chm-ches is of great importance, especially as 
regards the political state of Africa and Asia dming the years 
which succeeded the Reformation ; and the quarrels of the 
Dutch and Portuguese at Japan and Congo, the intrigues of 
both in Abyssinia and in the kingdoms of Matamba and Angola, 
exercised a fatal influence in increasins: the difficulties afterwards 
experienced by Europeans in theii* attempts to introduce com- 
merce and knowledge into those parts of Asia and Africa. 




^ 



L'h., \ \ 





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ZINGHA. 9 

Neither did the missionaries, very respectable men, no doubt, in 
other respects, always fulfil their duty as ministers of peace, ex- 
cited as they were by the opposition which they sometimes en- 
countered from their fellow Christians. 

ZiNGHA, Queen of Matamba, whose portrait stands at the 
head of this Memoir, took an active part in the bloody strife 
which at this period afflicted Africa. Cruel and vindictive as 
the most savage of her nation, though a woman, and one too 
who had advanced beyond the knowledge of her times, she was 
apparently at first the tool of the missionaries ; but she soon 
subjected them to her will, and forced them even to bend their 
necks to her formidable yoke. 

ZiNGHA, or NziNGHA, as it is pronounced in the Abboudi 
language, was the daughter of Zingha-N-Baudi- Angola, eighth 
king of Matamba, by his favourite concubine Changuilla Cau- 
camba. She was born in 1582. The horoscope of this extra- 
ordinary woman would almost make us believe in astrology. 
All the soothsayers of the country were assembled at her birth, 
and predicted that she would prove a monster of cruelty. 

"O a^s! mama a^ ! ma aa ! o «<^/''''^ cried, with terror in 
their countenances, all who had observed the signs indicated by 
the lines of her face. 

But she had other signs, which announced that she would 
prove a woman far above the common standard. Her fa- 
ther perfectly understood this, and gave her an education 
more warlike than African princesses usually receive. Baudi- 
Angola, who was of the sect of the Giagas,^ often blessed his 
daughter with all the ceremonies of his sanguinary religion ; 
and it was when surrounded with the dead bodies of new-born 
babes, that, as he drank the warm blood of the hmnan victim, 
he invoked the blessings of Heaven upon Zingha's head. This 
dreadful ceremony was not belied by her conduct when she 
grew up. Being naturally of a cruel disposition, this kind of 
education imparted to her the" ferocity of a tigress ; and while 
yet very young, she was called upon to furnish a testimony of 



10 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

her piety towards the blood-besmeared gods which she worshipped. 
Her father died, and his funeral was such as became an African 
king professing the religion of the Giagas. Two hundred in- 
nocent human beings were put to death and eaten at the funeral 
banquet ; and the glory of the deceased monarch was celebrated, 
dm'ing this tombo,'^ by the songs of the slayers, mingled with the 
cries and screams of the women, children, and old men serving 
as victims, many of whom fell by the hand of Zingha herself, 
who would sing praises to her gods as she pierced the bosom of 
a young girl and drank her blood, j 

Nevertheless, she assisted in these ceremonies with strong 
repugnance, as she afterwards declared. She had a horror of 
feasting on human flesh, and of libations of blood. But she was 
ambitious and vindictive : she would have both the tlu'one and re- 
venge on her enemies ; and to obtain these she required strength, 
which, as she well knew, existed only in the people. She there- 
fore flattered the passions and prejudices of the multitude. 
For a short time, however, she thought she might obtain sup- 
port from the Christians ; and here the extraordinary genius of 
this woman began to appear. 

A few years before her father^s death, Zingha bore a son^ whom 
she tenderly loved — for does not even the hysena love its young.? 
The old king also was very fond of this child, because it was 
Zingha's — and he preferred Zingha to all his other children. 
Prince Xgolambaudi, heir to the tkrone of Angola and !Matam- 
ba, fearing a competitor in his nephew, coiTupted the slaves who 
had the care of the child, and the poor babe was stifled in a bath 
of hot water. ^ Zingha bitterly deplored the loss of her offspring — 
for she was a tender mother : but she made a vow not to shed 
a single tear until she had avenged this murder. Xgolambaudi 
shuddered when he heard of this oath ; for he well knew that 
his sister swore not in vain, and that she was as resolute as 
implacable. 

Baudi- Angola left four children : Xgolambaudi, Zingha, 
Cambo, and Fungi. I have already stated that Zingha had 



ZINGHA. ^ 11 

received a warlike education : that of her sisters, Cambo and 
Fungi, was similar ; but, whether from their not possessing 
an equal degree of energy and courage, or from some other 
cause, Zingha was the only one her brother feared when he 
ascended the throne. 

Soon after the death of her father, she retired to a province at 
a considerable distance from Cabazzo, whence she excited the 
people of Matamba to insurrection. Ngolambaudi having de- 
tected several conspiracies against his life, punished the offenders 
with all the ferocity of his nation ; and with a view to make a sort 
of diversion — believing at the same time that he was pleasing his 
subjects — he declared war against the Portuguese, in order to 
wrest from them the provinces of Angola, which they occupied. 
But what could hordes of undisciplined and naked savages, badly 
armed, do against troops so valiant as the Portuguese of that 
period ? The negroes were defeated, their capital taken, and 
their king forced to seek safety in flight. The Queen, his 
consort, together with his two sisters, Fungi and Cambo, were 
carried away prisoners. As for Zingha, she owed her safety 
to her previous revolt. She was then far from Cabazzo. Ngo- 
lambaudi soon discovered that he was the weakest party, and, 
like a true African, felt that dissimulation alone could afford 
him the means, if not of conquering, at least of recovering what 
he had lost. He accordingly sent ambassadors to the Portu- 
guese viceroy at Angola ; and these made magnificent promises 
in his name. A treaty was entered into — the Portuguese with- 
drew their forces from the country, and set the royal prisoners 
at liberty ; but when Ngolambaudi was called upon to fulfil his 
promises, he eluded them under various pretences. 

The war was about to be resumed. A new viceroy had just 
reached Angola. Don Juan Correa de Souza was, like a 
number of his countrymen at that period, a man of great talents, 
high honour, fond of glory, and unwilling to allow his noble 
country to be disgraced by want of faith in a savage negro. He 
therefore spoke with such firmness, that Ngolambaudi was alarmed, 



12 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

and sent a solemn embassy to soften the Viceroy ; and knowing the 
talents, wit, and courage of his sister Zingha, he proposed to 
her Si fraternal reconciliation, and entreated that she would save 
her country by going herself to negociate with the Portuguese 
government. Zingha smiled on receiving this message : " Yes," 
she replied, " I will certainly go." 

She had long been desirous of knowing the Em-opeans ; for 
she was well aware that she should find civilisation nowhere but 
among them, and that civilisation alone could form into a 
nation the numerous tribes that peopled the sandy deserts of 
Africa. It w^as, therefore, from this secret motive that she 
undertook her brother's mission. A greater dissembler still than 
he, she pretended to place entire faith in his repentance, because 
•the hour of her revenge was not yet come, and the proposal 
made to her was an infallible means of accelerating the fulfil- 
ment of her vow. 

She accordingly set out for Angola with a magnificent suite. 
Her brother had added to her usual train, all the additional 
splendom- which his vanity prompted him to give, in order that 
his sister might be treated with greater respect by those Euro- 
peans who, as they declared, had quitted their smiling and fertile 
Europe only from the hope of obtaining the precious stones and 
mines of gold bmied under the burning sands of Africa. From 
Cabazzo to Angola, a distance of three hundred miles, Zingha 
was carried upon the shoulders of her slaves. 

On her arrival at Angola, she was received at the gates of the 
city by the magistrates, attended by the militia and troops of the 
line under arms. At the same time the artillery of the 'garrison 
fired a salute equal to that of the viceroy. 

She had apartments provided for her in the palace of Don 
Ruix Avagazzo ; and she and her numerous retinue were treated 
with the gi-eatest magnificence, at the expense of the King 
of Portugal. 

On her admittance to an audience of the Viceroy, she per- 
ceived, on entering the throne-room, a splendid arm-chair placed 



ZINGHA. 13 

for His Excellency, and opposite to it a beautiful foot carpet, 
upon which were only tw^o brocade cushions. She immediately 
understood that this latter accommodation was intended for 
her ; and this diiference, which seemed to indicate that she was 
considered a mere . savage, displeased her much. She however 
said nothing; but on a sign which she made, a young 
girl in her train knelt upon the carpet, and placing her elbows 
upon the ground, presented her back to her mistress, who seated 
herself upon it as upon a chair, and remained in this posture 
during the audience. 

In the conference which followed, Zingha displayed superior 
talent and sagacity. She excused, without meanness, her bro- 
ther''s want of faith, and begged for peace — but with dignity ; 
observing to the Viceroy that if the Portuguese had obtained 
the advantage on account of their superior civilization, and 
by means of a discipline unknown to the Africans, the latter 
had in their favour the circumstance of being in their own coun- 
try, and in the enjoyment of resources which all the power of the 
King of Portugal could not procure for his subjects. She sur- 
prised the council, convinced the Viceroy, and concluded with a 
line of reasoning worthy of the most able diplomatist. The 
Viceroy strongly insisted upon a yearly tribute from the King 
of Matamba, in order, as he said, to bind this prince more 
strongly, he having already violated his engagements. But this 
clause was too humiliating for Zingha to agree to : her ambi- 
tious pride led her to defend the interests of the crown of 
Matamba, as if she already wore it, and she resolved to obtain it 
unsullied. 

" My lord," said she to the Viceroy, " we will never consent 
to this condition ; neither ought you to insist upon it from 
a people whom you have driven to the last extremity. If the 
tribute were paid the first year, peace would be violated the 
next, in order to free ourselves from it. Content yourself with 
asking at present, biit all at once, to the full extent of what we 
can grant you. To this shall be added the freedom of the 



14 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Portuguese slaves, and the offer of a powerful king's alliance. 
This is all I can consent to promise you in my brother's 
name." 

The treaty was discussed and concluded at the same audience. 
When it was terminated, the Viceroy, as he led away the 
princess, remarked that the young girl who had served as a seat, 
still remained in the same attitude. He made the observation 
to Zingha. 

," The ambassadress of a gTcat king," she haughtily replied, 
" never uses the same thing twice. The girl who served as my 
seat, is no longer mine." 

It was dm-ing this period, that, being obliged to wait at 
Angola until the treaty was ratified, she caused herself to be 
instructed in the Christian religion, in order to attach the Portu- 
guese to her cause. Several Portuguese missionaries, then at 
Angola, the seat of the African mission, and who spoke the 
Abboudi tongue, instructed the princess. She sent to desire 
that her brother would not take umbrage at this, because the 
object she had in "siew was to acquire a better knowledge of the 
Portuguese nation. Ngolambaudi, on the contrary, approved of 
her conduct, and Zingha was christened in the principal church 
of Loando, the Viceroy and Vice-queen acting as sponsors.^ 
She received the name of Anna, which was that of the Vice- 
queen. Zingha then set out on her return, loaded with marks 
of honour and distinction by the Viceroy, who accompanied her 
several miles. 

Ngolambaudi received her with apparent gratitude ; but the 
brother and sister hated, and therefore naturally mistrusted 
each other. He assumed a kindness of manner which he was 
far from feeling, talked of embracing his sister's new religion, 
and even received the first instructions in Christianity. But in 
the mean time he was secretly preparing for Avar. He however 
sent his two other sisters to Angola to be baptized ;^ but 
scarcely had the two princesses retm-ned to Cabazzo, ere he 
commenced his incursions on the Portuguese territory, thus 



ZINGHA. 15 

declaring war without any motive. It is said that his sister 
Zingha having bribed the Singhisse^ whom the king consulted, 
the prophet had foretold a decisive victory over the Portu- 
guese. The unhappy monarch was however completely defeated ; 
and his sister having seduced his troops, they deserted him. 
He narrowly escaped being taken prisoner, and had only just 
time to jump into an arm of the Coanza, swim across, and 
seek refuge in a desert island, whither he was followed by a 
few servants whom he thought faithful, but who proved to be 
ministers of death, in the pay of Zingha. Being blockaded in 
this island, he was soon reduced to the last extremity. The 
depth and width of the river prevented his departure on the side 
opposite to that occupied by the enemy ; and the forests of the 
island were overrun with ferocious beasts of prey. In this 
extremity, he died by poison, not voluntarily taken by himself, 
but administered by his treacherous servants. He was buried 
in the island, and his obsequies were attended with the same 
sanguinary ceremonies as those of his father. 

The moment Zingha received intimation of this commence- 
ment of her revenge, she hastened to Cabazzo ; and, taking ad- 
vantage of the people's aifection for her, seized upon the crown, 
abjured Christianity, offered incense and sacrifices to the idols of 
her former worship, and made vows of blood and slaughter upon 
human hecatombs. 

Her brother had, however, left a son. This child had been 
confided, by his dying father, to the care of the Giaga Kasa, a man 
of superior merit, and worthy of the trust. Zingha wanted the 
boy's life : it had become necessary to make the crown sit se- 
curely upon her head ; and she also required it in order that her 
own son, murdered by the boy's father, might sleep peaceably in 
his grave. 

But the infant king was safe in the midst of a camp of 
warriors formed by the Giaga Kasa, who had assembled such of 
the late King's subjects as remained faithful to his memory. 
Zingha saw that stratagem alone could eiFect the consummation 



16 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

she desired ; and she offered to marry the Giaga, stating that 
she had long loved him, and was anxious to place the crown 
upon his head. 

Zingha was the loveliest of the daughters of her country, and 
the Giaga was at first tempted by the offer ; but the safety of 
his ward rendered him prudent, and he declined it. Zingha 
might have employed force to carry her point, but she was 
fearful of a revolt among her new subjects ; for she knew that her 
throne could never be secure whilst her nephew was alive. At 
length she suddenly came to a determination which no ordinary 
woman could have adopted. She left Cabazzo and proceeded 
to her nephew's camp, without retinue, and accompanied by only 
two or three slaves. She loaded the child with caresses, and 
seduced the Giaga. The marriage took place, and in the midst 
of the bridal festivities, she succeeded in enticing her husband 
and his infant ward to Cabazzo. There lay her strength, and she 
availed herself of it ; for the moment they reached the great square 
of the city, she drew her poniard with one hand, as she led her 
nephew with the other, and stabbed the poor child to the heart ; 
then taking up the body, threw it into the river which flows 
close to the city walls. 

" I have done," said she after this bloody feat, " that which 
the Singhisses commanded me to do : I have killed the son of 
Ngolambaudi, as he killed mine."' And casting her ferocious 
and blood-shot eyes around, she seemed to defy every one 
present. No one dared to speak : the people bowed their heads, 
and tremblingly submitted to this formidable woman. She was, 
moreover, greatly beloved by them, for she was valiant, and a 
woman of surpassing genius : in short, worthy to be their 
queen. 

Free from the uneasiness lately caused by the rights of her 
nephew, she now ordered every individual to be executed who 
had' the remotest claim to the throne, sparing only her two sis- 
ters, and one besides. Her motive for this act of clemency is 
unknown ; it was, perhaps, because from their want of capa- 



ZINGIIA. 17 

city slie entertained no fears of them, certainly not from any 
feeling of humanity. 

To secure her power, she made use of the Portuguese alliance, 
and her intrigues are fully related in every history of the king- 
doms of Angola and Matamba. Being now seated on the 
throne without a competitor, it became necessary, in order to 
keep the crown upon her head, that she should command the 
love of her subjects. She knew that they hated the Christians ; 
she therefore, by a baptism of human blood, made them for- 
get her baptism of redemption, and revived the monstrous rites 
of the sect of the Giagas, scrupulously following the Quixiles,^*' 
and surpassing even the ferocious Tem-Ban-Dumba, their 
legislatress. 

Unable, like the latter, to sacrifice to her sanguinary divi- 
nities a new-born male infant of her own, she adopted one, ' 
which she herself killed immediately after the ceremony of 
adoption, in order to compose with the body an execrable oint- 
ment which was to preserve her from every misfortune. - " 

Like all African women, she led an impure life ; but in dis- 
soluteness of conduct she surpassed them all. Yet she was 
anxious to be respected ; and one of her officers having proved 
indiscreet, she ordered him to be executed, and his body thrown 
outside the ramparts, to be devoured by wild beasts. 

A young girl who waited upon her, had the misfortune to be- 
come attached to a man upon whom the Queen had herself cast an 
eye of affection. Having discovered that the feeling was mutual 
between the youthful lovers, Zingha had them brought before 
her; and giving her poniard to the young man, ordered him 
to plunge it into the bosom of his mistress, to open her bosom, 
and eat her heart ! The moment he had obeyed this cruel order, 
she turned to the wretched man, who perhaps expected his 
pardon, and looked at him as if to confirm this expectation. 
But she ordered his head to be severed from his body, and it 
fell upon the mutilated corpse of his mistress,^' .^ 

c 



18 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Being at length freed from all fear of a revolt among her sub- 
jects, Zingha resolved to wrest from the Portuguese the pro- 
vinces of the kingdom of Angola which they had retained. She 
forgot her obligations to them, as she had previously forgotten 
those of her Christian baptism ; and declared war, on the Viceroy 
giving her to understand that as a Christian she was tributary 
to the King of Portugal. 

" I am tributary to no one,"" she replied. " Arms shall 
decide whether I am tributary to the Portuguese, or they 
to me.'' 

She then openly, and by a public declaration, embraced the 
religion of the Giagas, and called to her assistance all the Giagan 
tribes in the interior of Africa. They lost no time in rallying 
round a queen, " whose arrow,"' they said, " always hit the 
mark." By rejecting, like these cruel anthropophagi, every 
feeling of humanity, she succeeded in becoming their sovereign, 
and from that period her power was formidable. In this manner 
she spent thirty years of her life, ahvays at war, and always 
victorious. Though doubtless cruel and vindictive, she was 
great from her talents and heroic courage ; and proved to 
the world that, in a savage and far distant land, there existed 
a being who preferred death to slavery. She was certainly too 
much actuated by the love of revenge ; but the nation to which 
slie belonged, and the age in which she lived, ought to be placed 
in the opposite scale of the balance. Passionate and revenge- 
ful like all negro women, she must necessarily, in a country 
where the absolute will of the sovereign is the only law, have 
carried these passions to excess. 

One of the most powerful means she employed to govern, 
was that of pretending to be inspired, and to know, through a 
familiar spirit, every plot against herself and the state. Dm-ing 
her residence among the Portuguese, she had conceived the idea 
of civilizing her nation ; and this she canied into execution, 
imperfectly it is true, but in a sufficient degree to procure gi-eat 
advantages to the inhabitants of Angola and llatamba. Nature 



ZINGIiA. 19 

had endowed lier witli remarkable quickness of perception, and 
the Missionaries, who Avere constantly near her person, state 
that it was wonderful how she contrived to dovetail into African 
manners whatever she had observed to be advantageous in those 
of Europe. Her subjects venerated her, and considered her 
almost a deity. One day, after her return to the superstition of 
her fathers, a slave who worked in the garden of the hospital 
fled precipitately on hearing that the Queen was coming. Fa- 
ther Antonio de Gaete, then at Cabazzo, having asked him why 
he did so : 

\^Because,'' he replied, " I had stolen something from one 
of my companions ; and if the Queen had only looked at me, 
she would have discovered it, and have had me punished ; for she 
has a spirit that informs her of every thing.'''' 

Having imposed this belief upon the nation she governed, 
she made the infliction of personal vengeance serve also her 
projects of ambition. She carefully collected the bones of 
her brother, placed them in a portable shrine covered with 
plates of chased silver, and attached a singhisse to their 
worship. On every important occasion she pretended to con- 
sult the spirit of her murdered brother ! 

Her vengeance, as I have already stated, was terrible as 
the thunderbolt from heaven .^ It was often not confined to a 
single individual, a single family, a single village, or a single 
city : a whole province was often ravaged with fire and sword, 
and utterly depopulated. In this manner she revenged her- 
self upon the chief of the province of Sono, who had ventured 
to call her a despicable woman. Another chief paid the same 
penalty, for having uttered a single word ; two hundred and 
thirty of his officers perished with him, and their bodies were 
shared and devoured at a feast of rejoicing.^^ 

It is customary at Angola, on the death of a man of conse- 
quence, for one of his concubines to be buried with him, in 
order to serve him in a better world. The master of the queen's 
household died at a period when Zingha entertained a strong 

c2 



20 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

passion for liis son. Two concubines belonging to the deceased, 
disputed the honour of accompanying him to the gi-ave. 
On being made acquainted with this singular dispute, Zingha 
summoned the two women before her, that she might adju- 
dicate on the case. She designated the victim ; but perceiv- 
ing the son of the deceased cast a look by far too tender upon 
the woman whose life was to be spared, she recalled, by a 
sign, the officer directed to execute her commands, and coldly 
said, — " Take this woman also, and throw her into the grave 
with her companion."''* 

Zingha was of an extremely warlike disposition. At the head 
of the numerous Giagan tribes whom she had enticed into her 
dominions, she constantly overran the provinces opposed to her, 
like a raging torrent, ravaging and destroying every thing she met 
with, and converting the most fertile countries into deserts. The 
Portuguese at length resolved to drive her into the interior of 
Africa. But they employed Zingha's own means, and did not 
at first openly wage war ; they contented themselves with raising 
up enemies against her among her own allies, and succeeded even 
beyond their most sanguine hopes. 

The life of Ngola-Aary had been spared at the massacre of 
the royal family : the Portuguese now proclaimed him King of 
Dongo, and promised him their support, if he would declare war 
against Zingha. He did so, and the Portuguese, thinking they 
had done sufficient to alarm the African Queen, offered her 
their assistance to subdue Ngola-Aary, provided she agreed to 
pay a tribute to the King of Portugal. On this occasion Zingha 
gave a proof of a great and noble mind. 

-.^" I am a queen,"" she said, with bitter anger, to the Christian 
envoy ; " and your Viceroy has insulted me. How dare he, 
who is but a governor, talk thus to me, who am an independent 
sovereign ? Has he vanquished me, that he should presume to 
demand from me a tribute to his king ? No, sir, I am not van- 
quished,'' she continued, repeating the last words several times, 
and sti'iking the ground with a javelin, which she always 



ZINGIIA. 21 

carried in her hand ; " I have valiant troops, I have courage, 
and I will fight to the very last. As for the tribute, tell your 
governor that if he will have one, he must ask it of my corpse, 
for he shall never have one wMst I am alive.'' ^^ 

The Portuguese knew her well, and perceiving that war was 
inevitable, levied troops, overran the banks of the Coanza, 
attacked the seventeen islands in that river, two of wdiich they 
took, and blockaded the Queen in the island of Dangy. It was 
here that her unhappy brother had died, poisoned by her agents. 
But she felt no remorse. Being soon reduced to extremities by 
the musketry of the Portuguese — the negroes having no fire-arms 
— a flag of truce was sent to her, giving her tw^elve hours to sur- 
render. She surrender ! — never ! Having called her brother's 
singhisse before her, she directed him to interrogate the spirit, 
which replied in a manner to raise the courage, not of the Queen, 
for hers was never shaken, but of the persons around her, 
whose dismay was but too evident. This took place in the 
evening. The night passed, and on the morrow the Portuguese 
saw not a human being on the island, neither did they hear the 
least noise. They at first suspected some stratagem ; but 
having at length penetrated into the island, they found it aban- 
doned ; only near the tomb erected to the memory of Ngolam- 
baudi, lay the bodies of four young girls, whom Zingha had 
butchered as a mark of gratitude to her brother's spirit. She her- 
self had left the island during the night, and, with her followers, 
swam across the river at a place which appeared so impracticable 
to the Portuguese, that they did not place a guard there. By 
forced marches she reached the province of Cacco in safety. 

Zingha was furious at these reverses, and went even into the 
remotest deserts to raise up enemies against the Portuguese. 
She ravaged those of her own provinces which they occupied ; 
retook Matamba ; had Queen Matamba-Muongo, who had de- 
fended it for the Portuguese, branded wdth a red-hot iron ; and 
raging, like a hyaena from the • forest, Avith hunger and thirst of 
human flesh and blood, became the terror of the most valiant. 



2!2 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

It was at this period that the Giaga Cassangee,^'^ taking advan- 
tage of her absence, seized upon the provinces that remained to 
her, ruined the cities, burnt the houses, and did that which his 
cruel sovereign was doing elsewhere. On receiving intelligence 
of this fresh ao-aression, Zino;ha retmiied bv forced marches, and 
drove the Giaga from her dominions. He retreated, valiantly 
fighting the whole way. It was now that Zingha displayed 
the whole strenscth of her character, and showed the world 
what she was. She felt that in order to maintain her power 
over the barbarous tribes whom she governed, it was necessary 
that she and the Europeans should be united in one common 
interest ; she therefore sought the means of making peace, and 
forming an alliance with the Portuguese. There was only one 
mode of effecting this, and she resolved to adopt it. Her late 
victories had placed her in a situation to obtain honom-able 
conditions of peace ; and she hinted that she might possibly 
return to Christianity. The Portuguese viceroy, who had 
orders from his court to obtain, at any price^ Zingha'^s conver- 
sion, whether sincere oi feigned, immediately sent to her several 
missionaries and an ambassador. The capuchin, Antonio de 
Gaete, received her abjuration, and reconciled her to the Church. 
Zingha, convinced that the barbarous manners of her subjects 
would never be softened except through the religion of Christ, 
now embraced that faith with a determination to adhere to it. 
She yielded to the King of Portugal, by treaty, her just 
claims to the kingdom of Angola ; and this monarch con- 
cluded with her an offensive and defensive alliance to main- 
tain her upon the throne of Matamba. At this period Zingha 
was seventy-five years of age.^'' She issued an edict, abolish- 
ing the abominable religion of the sect of the Giagas, and their 
frightful superstitions. This extraordinary woman now con- 
ceived the most noble projects for the improvement of her 
nation ; though by nature sanguinary and cruel, she was, never- 
tlieless, a great ruler, and could display the most elevated virtues 
in juxtaposition with the most execrable crimes. Without 



ZJNGIIA. 23 

losing her tlirone, she performed that which no other woiikl 
have dared to attempt. She struggled against a people who 
wanted to subdue her nation, displaying a degree of energy which 
showed the force and stamp of her mind, and the immense effect 
of her influence ; and this she did, because her heroic soul 
made her consider it a duty to the crown she wore. She w^as 
striving arduously to introduce civilisation into her dominions 
when death overtook her, on the 17th of December 1663, at 
the advanced age of eighty-two years. The nature of the 
disease of which she died was little known at that period ; ac- 
cording to father Antonio de Gaete, it was a neglected inflam- 
mation of the lungs. 

Queen Zingha quitted this life with high feelings of repen- 
tant piety, leaving her nation half civilised and inconsolable 
for her loss. 

/"V On reaching the palace," says father Antonio, " I found the 
deceased Queen dressed in the most costly of her royal robes. 
She w^as lying on a litter covered with cloth of gold, the ends of 
which were fastened across her bosom by a clasp of precious 
stones. On her head she had a small helmet surmounted with 
a crown of gold, and adorned with feathers of various colours. 
She had several rows of coral beads and large pearls round her 
neck, and rich ear-rings. Her arms, up to the elbows, and 
her legs from the knees to the feet, were covered with gold 
rings enriched with jewels, and elephant's hair ingeniously 
platted — the latter being considered one of the most splendid 
ornaments in the country. She had on her feet small sandals of 
red velvet fastened with coral buttons ; and was surrounded 
with flowers. 

r^^" About the middle of the day she was conveyed to the 
audience portico, where she was placed upon a state bed, and 
exposed to public view. The bed w^as covered with a cloth 
called Gabu, manufactured in the country. She was almost 
in a sitting posture, with a rosary in her hand, and leaning 
upon a cushion, which one of her pages, who might have been 



24 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

taken for a statue, supported during several successive hours 
^vitliout makincy the sliohtest motion/^ 

o o 

The same author relates, that the moment she appeared, " the 
people, seeing her in her state dress with the crown upon her 
head, showed the strongest marks of joy ; they imagined that 
she had risen from the dead. But when they found that she did 
not give them her blessing, which she was in the habit of doing 
whenever she appeared before them, they burst forth into la- 
mentations and cries of distress, rolled themselves upon the 
ground, tore their hair, and covered their heads with dust,^^ thus 
displaying theii' grief at the loss of their incomparable queen.'" 

Zingha was always magnificent in her dress. She usually wore 
stuffs manufactured in the country from the bark of trees. 
Their texture was so fine that it sm-pa-ssed that of the most 
beautiful satins of Em-ope. She always wore two pieces, one of 
which went round her body, and the other served as a mantle. 
But on days of ceremony, her royal mantle was formed of the 
richest brocades of Asia; and she wore a crown of gold over 
a sort of helmet. Her arms and neck were loaded with mag- 
nificent pearls, chains of gold, and coral beads ; and her legs 
were encircled with anklets of gold. Her sceptre was a rod 
covered with red velvet embroidered with pearls, and adorned 
with small bells of gold and silver. Sometimes, but seldom, she 
wore a Portuguese dress, " in order,'" as she said, " to become 
entirely a Doila Anna."' 

She was fond of hunting, and prefeiTcd the most perilous kind. 
She kept in her " apartment,"" as Father Antonio terms it, 
though it was but a hut more ornamented and better fitted 
up than others, the spoils of lions and tigers killed by her own 
hand ; and these she took great pride in showing. 

She had three hundred women to wait upon her ; ten were 
always about her person, and were not to lose sight of her for a 
single moment. 

She always took her meals in public. A large mat was spread 
upon the ground, and covered with a table-cloth of European 



ZINGIIA. 25 

linen. Zinglia seated herself upon a cushion, and used, as may 
easily be imagined, neither knife nor fork. She gave large pieces 
of meat to her officers and female attendants, who, from respect 
alone, and whether hungry or not, were forced immediately to 
swallow, to the very last morsel, whatever she gave them. 
Father Antonio saw as many as twenty dishes served up, even 
on ordinary occasions. " There were,"" he says, " lizards, 
locusts, crickets, and often mice roasted with the skin and 
hair on." Zingha offered him some, but he declined the honour. 

" You Europeans,"" she observed, ^'know not what good eat- 
ing is."" 

Sometimes she dined in great state, and after the European 
fashion. She had then gold and silver plate admirably wrought, 
and was waited upon by her officers with the same ceremonial as 
was observed at the courts of Spain and Portugal. This how- 
ever occurred but seldom ; for notwithstanding her decided taste 
for learning that of which she was ignorant, she was not fond of 
restraint, or of things not in general use. 

She had no stables, because there were neither horses nor 
mules at Matamba and Angola.^ '^ (^Instead of horses, she had 
robust slaves, who were kept in particular huts under the direc- 
tion of a superintendent : they were used for the same work as 
horses^' The activity of this race of men is so great, that they 
sometimes carry a heavy burthen fifty miles in a day. 

This memoir, which is strictly true, may lead to much reflec- 
tion in those who so bitterly attack the whites for their treatment 
of negro slaves. The latter in our Colonies have never yet 
undergone such degradation. Add to this the horrible super- 
stitions of the Giagas, and our colonial slaves must have but 
little to regret in their native country. 

The Princess Cambo (Dona Barbara) succeeded her sister 
Zingha. In vain were the bow and arrows, and the javelin put 
into her hands as the symbols of sovereignty : the kingdom of 
Angola, by the death of Zingha, had lost a great ruler, and the 
loss was irreparable. Cambo was infirm, blind, and, moreover, 



26 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

married to a wretch who, though a Christian, soon brought back 
the impious ceremonies which Zingha had abolished with so 
much difficulty, and the love of which had never been wholly 
eradicated from the hearts of her subjects. Such cruel rites be- 
longed to that age of ignorance ; but Zingha, though cruel and 
sanguinary, had soai-ed into futurity. Had she been born in 
Em-ope, she might have proved a Catherine II., an Elizabeth, 
or a Catherine de Medicis. 



* To the sixteenth century I might have added the first part of the seven- 
teenth ; but I consider the events of this last period as a necessary conse- 
quence of those of the sixteenth centnry. 

2 O ace ! mama ace ! ma ace ! o ace .'—" Oh ! what a monster will this 
child be !" 

^ See " Relation des Royaumes de Matamba et d' Angola ;" also " Let- 
tres Edifiantes ;" and " Relation Historique de I'Ethiopie Occideutale,'' 
vol. ii. 

■* Tomho means a sacrifice. The more honourable the victims, the more 
agreeable was the tombo to the sanguinary deities of the Giagas. See, for a 
description of these horrid rites, the second volume of a work by J. B. 
Labat, entitled "^ Relation Historique de I'Ethiopie Occidentale ;" see also 
*' Lettres Edifiantes,'' and all the travels in Africa. 

^ It is well known that, prior to the introduction of Christianity, the cere- 
mony of marriage was very little used at Congo and in the kingdom of 
Angola. None of the histories of Africa, not even those which give most par- 
ticulars concerning the death of Zingha's son, say a word about the fatlier 
of this child, or even state who he was. 

^ According to another account his eyes were first put out with a red-hol 
iron, and he was afterwards butchered 3 but the version of the hot water 
passes for the most authentic. This crime was the cause of many others 
of the most frightful kind, so true is it that reprisals are always worse than 
the original provocation. 

^ Don Juan Correa de Souza. The name of the Vice-queen was Doiia 
Anna Meneses. 

^ They received the names of their godmothers, Dona Barbara de Sylva, 
and Dona Garcia Ferreja. 

9 Singhisses are prophets who speak in the name of the spirits of the 
dead relatives of those who consult them. These men are greatly venerated 
in Africa. 

'° Quixiles are the laws of the .Giaga:<, given to them by their legislatress, 
Tcm-Ban-Dumba. These laws are written in letters of blood much more 
than those of Draco, 



ZINGIIA. 27 

" The cruelties of Zingba are related in great detail in the " Relation 
Historique du Royaume d'Angola," but they are so monstrous that I was 
unwilling to sully ray pages with such disgusting enormities. Thus I have 
omitted her butchering pregnant women, her mode of torture by the appli- 
cation of aquafortis and salt to the stumps of limbs which she had cut off, 
and a thousand other atrocities, the bare mention of which must make every 
human being shudder. 

'^ To drown the cries of the unhappy victims of a tombo in the camp, 

Zingha had all the military instruments in her army played at once ; and to 

clear away the blood stains, she employed means which no one else v>^ould 

y have imagined : she had the blood licked up from the ground by her slaves. 

'^ See '^ Relation Historique de TEthiopie," vol. iv. p. 63 ; also " Lettres 
Edifiantes," and " History of Angola," 

'^ The Giaga Cassengee was a very extraordinary man. The missionaries, 
in dieir histories, termed him an unbelieving heretic, and relate a great many 
stories of him utterly devoid of truth. 

'5 Zingha, before her last peace with the Portuguese, being anxious to try 
another alliance, entered into a treaty with the Dutch ; but she soon got 
tired of them and returned to the Portuguese. The missionaries pretend 
that it was because the latter were Catholics. The fact is, Zingha, having 
tried both, deemed the Portuguese much better allies than the Dutch. This 
certainly might have been the case at the period alluded to ; for it was about 
the time when the Dutch obtained leave from the Emperor of Japan to 
trade in his dominions, on condition that they would spit upon the crucifix 
f" and the image of the Virgin Mary, and trample them under foot. 

^^ See " Relation Historique de I'Ethiopie." See also " History of Queen 
Anna Zingha," by Father Labat, and also that by Father Antonio Gaete. 

^^ It is only as a luxury, according to every traveller who has visited this 
part of Africa, that the Portuguese have mules brought to Loando. 



28 



LADY JANE GRAY. 

A31BITION pimislied, seldom excites pity ; but can a tribute uf 
comuiiseration be refused to a beautiful Avomau, only seventeen 
years of age, ^vlio laid her liead upon tlie block to expiate the 
ambition of another ? Such was the fate of Lady Jane Gray ! A 
crown had no attractions for her — she had no desire to reign ! 
It seemed as if this unfortunate and lovely young creature felt 
her feet slip on the very steps of that throne which the Duke 
of Xorthumberland forced her to ascend. A warning presenti- 
ment told her that a life of quiet seclusion was the only means 
she had of escaping a violent death. She long resisted the fatal 
counsel of her father-in-law ; but she was dragged on by her CAil 
destiny. 

Lady Jane Gray, born in 1537, ^^'as the grand-daughter of 
Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIIL This princess being left a 
widow by the death of her husband, Louis XIL King of France, 
and having no children by this man-iage, retiu'ned to England 
and married Brandon Duke of Suffolk, whom she had long 
loved, and who was Lady Jane's grandfather. The subject of 
this memoir, when she was scarcely sixteen, manied Lord 
Guildford Dudley, fourth son of John Dudley Duke of North- 
umberland. Lady Jane Gray was beyond measm'e lovely : her 
featm-es were beautifully regular, and her large and mild eyes 
were the reflection of a pm-e and energetic soul, though peaceful 
and unambitious. She had a strong passion for study, espe- 
cially that of abstruse science. Though young, she had acquired 
vast learning, and was deeply read in the ancients : she was 
very familiar with Greek, and extremely partial to Plato. Living 
at one of her country seats, she divided her time between her 
books and her husband, until political events of high importance 
troubled lier peaceful life and destroyed her happiness. 




Jln/zun r/t/ 



ILABT JAMIE ©MIEY 



^Mey(mj^^m7/ry m^j///r/yne Ij/ /l^t^nJ /laS^^ ij /o Jf /vi/m/. m-M-e 



>y^ 



LADY JANE GRAY. 29 

Edward Seymour Duke of Somerset, Protector of England, 
exercised over that kingdom a despotic sway to whicli the nobles 
would no longer submit. The latter, equally disgusted with the 
pride of Thomas Lord Seymour, the Protector's brother, applauded 
the Duke of Northumberland when he succeeded in successively 
removing these two favourites from the King's person ; and 
Northumberland thought himself popular, when he was only loved 
on account of his hatred towards the Seymours. Edward VI, 
a weak and sickly child, who could ill bear the weight of the 
crown that encircled his pallid brow, always bestowed his favour 
upon those near his person, and Northumberland succeeded 
Somerset. But the new favourite, fearing, and with good reason, 
that he should not long retain this station, as the King might die, 
and was indeed then dying though only sixteen years of age, em- 
ployed, with considerable address, the prejudices of religion to 
gain his ends. He described to Edward, in hideous colours, the 
character of his sister, Mary the Catholic ; and represented in 
an equally unfavourable light, Elizabeth, daughter of that Anna 
Boleyn who was condemned and executed for adultery. Could 
then the crown of England, he asked, be placed upon a dis- 
honoured brow, or the welfare of the English nation be entrusted 
to an intolerant fanatic ? Northumberland was a man of ability : 
he shook the timid conscience of Edward, who fearing Mary's vio- 
lence, and prejudiced against Elizabeth, changed the order of 
succession, and designated as his successor, Jane Gray, the eldest 
daughter of Henry Gray. On the King's death. Lady Jane was, 
through the exertions of Northumberland, proclaimed Queen. In 
vain did the lovely young creature entreat her father-in-law to 
allow her to retain her freedom : the obstinate Duke, always at 
the head of intrigues, determined to gain his point with her whom 
he deemed a child. " Shall it be for nothing," said he, " that I 
have caused the daughters of two queens to be declared illegiti- 
mate in order to place the crown upon the head of my daughter- 
in-law ? No indeed !" The ambitious old man sent for the 
princesses Mary and Elizabeth to London, without informing 
them of the King's death, which he kept concealed. But Mary, 



30 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOME?;. 

being acquainted Avitli Northumberland's projects, escaped the 
snare ; and steel made her triimiph over the obstacles which he 
placed between the throne and herself. Steel ! — steel, flames, 
and scaffolds, were about to constitute the laws of Mary the 
Catholic — of Mary the blood-thii'sty ! 

She soon entered London, with prayers on her tongue and 
vengeance in her heart. In vain did Northumberland resist 
her : he was vanquished, deserted by every one, and, together 
with Lady Jane Gray and his son, Lord Guildford Dudley, im- 
prisoned in the Tov^-er. 

Poor Jane Gray ! — she had resisted her father-in-lavr"s wishes 
only to yield to them and die after a reign of nine days ! — for the 
unfortunate and lovely woman reigned no longer. Scarcely had 
she placed upon her head that crown so fatal to the touch — 
which falls but to cbag the heads of kings along with it — ere 
she was shut up in a dungeon, soon to lay her head on the 
block ! Alas ! she had a presentiment of her fate, when she 
refused to exchange her diadem of flowers for the regal crown of 
England. 

Meanwhile. Mary considered that the death of Northumber- 
land alone was sufficient to appease her vengeance and secure her 
peaceful possession of the throne. Lady Jane Gray and her hus- 
band were confined in the Tower of London; — in the same place as 
that Elizabeth, who was destined at a later period to show the world 
that a woman may become a great sovereign. For a time, Mary 
suffered Lady Jane Gray to live, because she thought that, being 
Queen of England both by right and force, she might reign in 
future without taking away the lives of all her enemies. But 
such are the dreadful consequences of violence, that, when 
once adopted, the only road left open is one of bloodshed ; and 
to deviate from it then is impossible ! 

Mary was a Catholic and a bigot ; and being betrothed to Pliilip 
of Spain, she was anxious to offer a nuptial present worthy 
of him who was one day to become the father of Don Carlos. 
She therefore commanded that all her subjects throughout Eng- 
land should submit to tlie see of Rome ; and as the Ensflish 



LADY JANE GRAY. 31 

then professed tlie reformed religion, and were attached to it, 
(Mary directed also that scaffolds should be erected, and piles of 
faggots raised for burning heretics^' On the issuing of these 
orders, insurrections broke out in every part of the kingdom. The 
^^Queen shuddered whenever she heard the names of her sister 
and her cousin ; she stormed with rage at the people who called 
for Lady Jane Gray ; and to silence them — to answer their 
call — she threw them the head of that unhappy lady ! 

Poor Jane ! Thou wert dragged from thy peaceful retire- 
ment to be placed against thy will upon a throne, and to fall 
from it into a dungeon ! The ministers of vengeance and 
fanaticism are now come to drag thee from thy prison, and force 
thee upon a scaiFold ! 

Mary was alarmed at the cries of sedition uttered by the 
people. Lady Jane and her husband were brought before an 
iniquitous council, who condemned them both to die ; and 
the Mayor of London having begged that a public example 
might be made, obtained that Lord Guildford Dudley should be 
executed in public. The unfortunate nobleman, on his sentence 
being communicated to him, requested an interview with his 
wife. She refused to see him, but wrote him a letter to the 
following purport : — 

't^Do not let us meet, Guildford — we must see each other 
no more until we are united in a better world. We must forget 
our joys so sweet, Guildford, our loves so tender and so happy. 
You must now devote yourself to none but serious thoughts. 
No more love, no more happiness here upon earth ! — we must 
now think of nothing but death ! Remember, my Guildford, that 
the people are waiting for you, to see how a man can die. Show 
no weakness as you approach the scaffold ; your fortitude would 
be overcome, perhaps, were you to see me. You could not quit 
your poor Jane without tears ; and tears and weakness must be 
left to us women. Adieu, my Guildford, adieu ! be a man — be 
firm at the last hour — let me be proud of you.^^ 

Guildford died like a hero, and Jane was proud of him. Ah ! 
it was not from weakness that this noble-minded creature re- 



32 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

fused the crown ; she was happy with her books, her aifection, and 
her beloved husband, under her arbours of flowers. It was the 
absence of happiness in a crown, not its weight, that alarmed her. 

She saw her husband leave the Tower and proceed to the place 
of execution. She prayed a long time for him ; her own turn then 
came, and she prepared for death. Mary, desii'ous of increasing 
her sufferings, pretended to convert her, and offered to pardon 
her if she would abjure the reformed religion. But with a sweet 
smile of sadness, she refused. For at that time what was life to 
her ? — nothing but a vast solitude through which she should 
have to wander alone and deserted. She preferred death ! 
,, For three days she was assailed by the importunities of 
Catholic priests, who thought they had shaken her faith. Jane 
made them no reply, but continued her prayers. Having written 
a last letter of adieu* to her sister, the Countess of Pembroke, she 
took off her mom-ning, dressed herself in white, had her long 
and beautiful hair cut off by her female attendants, and walked 
boldly to the place of execution. When, however, she saw the 
sparkling of the steel axe, she turned pale. She knelt, prayed 
again, lifted up her eyes and looked at the heavens ! — then 
placing her head upon the block, she received the stroke that 
conferred upon her a crown of which no human passions could 
deprive her — the croAvn of martyrdom ! 

This was the thii-d time in London, within a period of twenty 
years, that the blood of a queen had stained a scaffold. The 
reign of Elizabeth was to present a fourth act of the same tragedy. 

Catherine Gray, Countess of Pembroke, was more to be pitied 
than her sister Jane ; for, after all, what is death to one who 
has lost every thing that makes life valuable ? But Catherine, 
separated from a world in which the man she loved still lived, 
must often have prayed to God to give her the sleep of the grave. 

Catherine Gray had married the Earl of Pembroke ; but their 
union was so unhappy that both demanded a separation, and their 
marriage was dissolved by a judicial act. She then became 

* This letter was written in Greek. A good translation of it into French 
is to be found in Larrey's History of England. 



LADY JANE GRAY. 33 



cavmp' 



the wife of the Earl of Hertford, who set out for France, 1 
her pregnant. Catherine Gray being of the royal blood of Tudor, 
her maiTiage without the consent of her sovereign was imputed 
to her as a crime ; and on ascending the throne, Mary, as happy 
in having to inflict punishment as another would have been to 
show clemency, condemned her to imprisonment for life. The 
Earl of Hertford, on his return from France, was also sentenced 
to imprisonment, and the Archbishop of Canterbury declared the 
marriage null and void. Nevertheless the Earl protested against 
the sentence of the Archbishop, as well as against that of his 
other judges. He loved Catherine with the tenderest affection ; 
and still looking upon her as his wife, bribed the keeper of the 
Tower, and obtained access to her prison. Catherine became a 
mother a second time ; and Mary persecuted the Earl of Hert- 
ford with all the vindictive hatred of a queen whose authority is 
despised, and of a woman already past the age of inspiring love, 
who cannot forgive young people for their superiority in this re- 
spect. The EarFs accusation consisted of three counts : First, of 
having seduced a princess of the royal blood ; secondly, of having 
violated a state prison ; and thirdly, of having approached a 
woman from whom the law had separated him. He was condemned 
to a fine of five thousand pounds sterling for each offence. He 
paid the fifteen thousand pounds, and after a long confinement 
consented to sign a voluntary act of separation from Catherine ; 
but not till after a long struggle, and a resistance which bore 
ample testimony of the strength of his attachment. 

The unfortiinate Catherine Gray died in prison, in 1562, 
after a long and painful captivity. Like her sister Jane, she 
was learned and fond of study. Both were young and lovely, 
and the fate of both showed that royal birth is no security against 
misfortune. iTears are shed in the palaces of kings, as well as 
the peasant's hovel ; and arms loaded with jewels often bear the 
chains of captivity} Poison is sometimes drunk in a cup of 
gold, and the crowned head severed by the executioner\s axe ^! 



34 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO, 

OR THE MONJA-ALFEREZ, (THE NUN-ENSIGN.) 

After examining with attention tlie portrait at the head of 
this memoir, there will be no difficulty in believing what is here 
related of the original. The harsh and even ferocious expression 
of the portrait recalls the features of this woman only to render 
her more execrable ; and on looking at it, the workings of a mind 
enclosed in such a covering, may easily be anticipated. 

Dona Catalina de Erauso was born at St. Sebastian, in 
the province of Guipuscoa, on the 10th of February 1585. She 
was the daughter of Captain Miguel de Erauso and Dona Maria 
Perez de Galarraga y Arce, his wife. As in every large family 
in Spain at that period, the daughters of Don Miguel de Erauso 
were, from their birth, destined for the cloister. Catalina, as 
the eldest, was the first sacrificed ; and she was scarcely four 
years old when she was sent to her maternal aunt, Soror 
Ursula de Unza y Sarasti, prioress of a convent of Dominicans, 
called St. Sebastian TAntiguo. Catalina remained in this con- 
vent with tolerable resignation, until she was fifteen. At this 
period she felt the first inspiration of the life of danger and 
adventure which she afterwards led. Its seductions haunted her 
day-dreams, and her excited imagination depicted to her tTle 
delights of freedom, such as they might be conceived by a young 
girl who all her life had perceived no other light and shade in 
the existence to which her parents had doomed her, than a 
greater or less proportion of severity, and a captivity more or 
less rigorous. 

She has herself stated, in a sort of journal which she kept of 




, Ifaicun del 



/, L 7, Villa, 









Sjonflan. /it-thhs/iecL Iri/ J^uli di CnurtQrL^26 . J{o(I&r, St(M4/e'?iaisA. J~ou 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO, 35 

her life, and which, were it of greater extent, might be termed 
her memoirs, how unhappy she was among the Dominican nuns 
of St. Sebastian, although the prioress was her aunt. The dis- 
content of the young novice did not proceed from the actual con- 
ventual rules to which she was subjected, but from a more serious 
cause : the bent of her mind, nay of her very existence, was 
thwarted, and hence, she experienced positive unhappiness instead 
of content. 

Though the young girl was unable to explain this distinc- 
tion, she strongly felt it ; and she yearned for freedom, which 
she invoked with her whole soul, without knowing what it was. 
Yet at this period she did not conceive even the thought of 
ever being able to pass the brazen walls which cut her off from 
the world. She knew not precisely what she wanted ; but she 
wept because she was unhappy. She had already taken the white 
veil, her noviciate was almost expired, and the moment was at 
hand when her own act would convert an already detested abode 
into an eternal prison. 

About this time she had a violent quarrel with a nun named 
Catalina d'Aliri, who had lately arrived at the convent. The con- 
sequences of this dispute were terrible. The nun was at least as 
passionate as the novice, and being stronger, beat Catalina, who 
was unable to avenge the affront. 

When I have made known Catalina's character, and shown 
in what manner this inconceivable woman afterwards received an 
offence and pursued her cruel vengeance, it will scarcely be 
understood how on this occasion she could have allowed her 
vindictiveness to slumber during a whole day. Bat such was 
the fact : she remained silent — she dared not tn st herself to 
speak, lest the tempest which raged within her shorild burst with 
too great violence. On the 18th of March 1600, at the vigils 
of St. Joseph, all the nuns had entered the choir at midnight to 
perform the service of matins. The whole convent was assem- 
bled, and each was at prayers, when the prioress called Catalina, 
to whom she gave a key, with directions to go and fetch her bre- 

D 2 /' 



36 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

viary, wliich she had forgotten. The novice obeyed at first 
slowly, and seemed overwhelmed with grief. Her footsteps were 
heavy, her looks gloomy. On a sudden her fiery black eyes 
sparkled with an expression of savage delight — a smile of 
triumph, but bitterly sardonic, unclosed her lips, and bent her 
falcon nose — her whole frame thrilled with joy. She returned with 
the breviary, tripping lightly with it to her aunt, and then kneeling 
by the side of her venerable relative, prayed — yes ! she prayed, 
and never with greater fervency. 

A few minutes after her retmii, she complained of a violent 
headach, and asked permission, which was seldom refused to the 
novices, to be allowed to withdraw before the service was over. 

As soon as she had left the chm-ch and closed behind her the 
old and ponderous door which now separated her from the assem- 
bled nuns of St. Dominic, she di-ew her breath forcibly as if to 
take possession of a new existence in the smTOunding air. Now 
that she knew^ precisely what she was going to do, it seemed as if 
God had given her another life and fresh strength to execute her 
wishes ; — and in truth, it required com'age far above the common 
standard to go through with her undertaking. For in this cast 
of the dice played against fate by a girl of fifteen, she staked 
her life ; but fate, indifferent and unmoved, staked nothing. 

A single moment had sufficed to make a new light break upon 
the senses of Catalina. It was like the hospitable lantern which 
suddenly appears to guide the benighted and bewildered 
traveller to a place of shelter. 

When she went to her aunt's cell, after taking the breviary 
fr6m the d-^sk on which it stood, she was about to return to 
the church, when her eyes met an object that made the blood 
rush with impetuosity to her heart : she beheld the keys of 
the convent, which the portress of the convent always deposited, 
before matins, in the cell of the prioress. (At this sight the 
novice felt her bai d contract upon her brow as if it were a 
circle of iron — her spirit caught a glimpse of the world — 
she saw the blue heavnis — she saw the fields and forests of 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 37 

the earth — she saw liberty — sweet, unrestrained liberty within 
her grasp ! . A few moments more and nothing would intervene 
between her will, whatever it might be, and its execution. That 
which she had long sighed for, she could now obtain ; and in an 
instant her mind was made up. She then became, what she ever 
after proved herself to be, a woman of resolution, never wa- 
vering in her resolve, and always cutting the knots which she 
could not untie. 

As she left the choir, matins had only just begun, so that she 
had ample time to carry her plan of flight into execution. She 
lost not an instant in unnecessary preparations, but immediately 
returned to her aunt's cell, the door of which she had taken 
care not to lock. Here she took a supply of money, a needle, 
some thread, and a pair of scissors, and lastly, the keys of 
the convent ; and then descended gently, shutting each door 
behind her without noise. When she had reached the last, she 
stopped a moment to take off her scapulary, and left it in the 
room of the portress. She then opened the door which separated 
her from the world, into which, alone, unprotected, and quite 
ignorant of all its evils as well as joys, she was about to plunge 
at the age of fifteen.' But all she wanted, was her freedom. 
She ran forward without stopping, until she came to a chestnut 
grove at some distance from the city.^ 

On reaching this retreat, she entered the thickest part of it, 
and remained there three days without being perceived by 
any human being. ; She had entered the wood dressed as a 
novice of St. Dominic ; she left it in the garb of a boy, and from 
that period till the day of her death, did not resume, except 
for a very short time, the dress of her own sex. In the middle 
of the third night after her flight from the convent, she quitted 
her place of concealment, and followed the first road before 
her without knowing whither it led. It led her to Vittoria. 
During the three days she had spent in the cnestnut grove, she 
had taken no food but wild roots and grass, which, as she herself 
states, she gathered in the road. 



38 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOME|^. 

On lier arrival at Vittoria, she had the good fortune to be 
hired as secretary to her uncle, Don Francisco de Cerralta, who 
had never seen her. He took care of her, under the supposition 
that she was an orphan boy ; and was even anxious to give her 
a good education. But Catalina had not left her convent to im- 
pose a voluntary imprisonment upon herself: her roving dis- 
position, and her desire of becoming acquainted with that 
boundless world which seemed open before her, led her to Val- 
ladolid, where the Court then resided. Here fortune Avas again 
propitious, and she entered as page into the service of Don 
Juan de Idiaquez, secretary to the king, and the patron of her 
family. She had served Don Juan only a few months, 
when one evening as she stood at the gate of his palace, her 
father, Captain Don Miguel de Erauso, arrived. The night was 
too dark for her to see him, but she recognised him by his voice. 
The unhappy old man had come to beg Don Juan's assistance 
in recovering his daughter, who, as he stated, had fled from her 
convent. Catalina had gently followed her father in order to 
catch a few words that might regulate her conduct. Those utter- 
ed by her venerable parent in the overflowings of his grief, ought to 
have impelled her to throw herself at his feet ; but Catalina was 
not one of those who are stopped, in a career such as she was 
pursuing, by a word or a regret, unless produced by a change 
in their own views and feelings. The words which the daughter of 
Don Miguel heard on this occasion, had no other eflTect than to 
induce her to leave Don Juan's palace that very instant, and 
make a bargain with a muleteer. Before daybreak she was on 
the road to Bilboa. She bore at that time the name of Fran- 
cisco de Loyola. 

At Bilboa, she found herself in the midst of a crowd of men, 
who from her dress felt authorised to treat her as an equal ; and 
in a short time she acquired habits as foreign sto her birth as to 
the education she had received. That which the prejudices of 
society would no doubt have overcome, assumed the most despotic 
sway over her mind : she yielded to the full violence of her 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 39 

disposition, and this ardent lover of freedom signed, neverthe- 
less, a disgraceful pact of slavery with the most ungovernable 
passions. One day at Bilboa, she had a quarrel with some 
young men, and being the aggressor, was imprisoned a whole 
month. 

From Bilboa, she proceeded to Estella de Navarra, where she 
entered the service of a knight of St. Jago, named Don Carlos de 
Arellano, with whom she remained two years, " during which," 
says Don Maria Ferrer, the editor of her Life, "she was well 
clothed, well fed, and well paid." At the expiration of this 
time, ennui fixed its fangs upon her, and a whim of her un- 
bridled imagination carried her back to St. Sebastian, where she 
attended mass at the church of her own convent, saw her mother 
at a distance during the service, and actually spoke to her old 
companions the nuns, who only considered her a young lad, as 
she herself expresses it, " Men vestido et galan'''' (well dressed^ 
and fashionable.) She then, without feeling any further 
emotion at the sight of her mother and her conversation with 
those among whom she had passed her childhood, left St. Sebas- 
tian, and proceeded to Los Passages, whence she embarked for 
Seville. On reaching San Lucar-la-mayor, she found the 
famous Spanish expedition against the Dutch, at the Punta de 
Araya, ready to sail under the joint command of Don Luis Fer- 
nandez de Cordova, and the celebrated Don Luis Tajardo.^ 
Ever whimsical even in her most ordinary resolves, she pro- 
ceeded to the Spanish Indies, under the name of Pedro de Orive, 
on board a ship commanded by Don Estevan Equino, one of 
her mother's brothers. She entered her uncle's service under 
pretence of learning the profession of a sailor. The Dutch 
fleet, consisting of nineteen ships of the line, was burned by the 
Spaniards, and there it was that Catalina first heard those 
sounds which afterwards pursued her in her dreams, — namely, 
the notes of the shrill bugle, the roar of musketry, and the 
din of battle. But with her love of glory, nature had not 
gifted her with the generosity of soul usually attendant upon 



40 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

true valour; and with all her superiority of physical courage, 
she was a monster among her fellow-beings. 

The Spanish fleet was about to sail for Spain ; but Catalina, 
anxious to remain in America, left her uncle clandestinely, and 
in the middle of the night, after robbing him of twenty-five 
pesos. 

She then became, in reality, a new being, and her metamor- 
phosis was di'eadful. Her character, naturally energetic, was 
now tempered afresh by her voluntary rejection of all support 
and protection from others ; and from iron it became steel. 
After the departure of the Spanish army, she obtained employ- 
ment in the house of Don Juan de Ibarra, the king's factor, at 
Panama. Amid the conflict produced in her ardent mind by the 
numerous strange incidents which had passed before her, she had 
not yet settled the plan of her future life, and she was, more- 
over, eager to acquire wealth. Don Juan de Ibarra being a 
miser, she quitted his service, entered into an engagement 
with a Truxillo merchant named Juan de Urquiza, left Panama 
for the port of Paita, was shipwrecked, and with great difficulty 
saved herself and her master, who afterwards placed her at the 
head of a commercial establishment which he possessed at Sana. 

She vfas here fortunate and happy, when her uneasy and vio- 
lent temper led her into a quarrel with an inhabitant of the 
town. High words passed on both sides, but Catalina Avas the 
most abusive and the most angry. Bent upon revenge, she had 
a long knife sharpened — that description of knife which is termed 
cuchiUo ; then taking a sword — the first, she said, that she ever 
girded — she proceeded next day to waylay her antagonist, whose 
name was Los Reyes. As he passed the church, in which 
she had hid herself, she sprang upon him, and making a 
dreadful gash in his face, said, in allusion to a threat he had 
uttered during their quarrel the day before : " That is the face 
which is to be cut." ^ 

A friend of the wounded man came to his assistance, but 
Catalina drew her sword and dangerously wounded this new 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 41 

adversary. Alarmed, liowever, at what she had done, she took 
refuge in the church ; but the corregidor, who happened to be 
passing at the time, did not consider this sanctuary as inviola- 
ble ; Catalina was therefore dragged from her retreat and taken 
to prison. 

From this period, her life became a continued series of atro- 
cious crimes and dreadful misfortunes ; for her hand inflicted 
death the moment it touched any human being. 

She was delivered from her captivity at Sana by the exertions 
of her master Urquiza, whom she joined at Truxillo. There 
a fresh quarrel arose between her and a friend of the individual 
whom she had wounded at Sana. This new adversary she 
killed. 

" The point of my sword,"" she says, " entered his body — I 
know not through what part.'^ 

The cathedral of Truxillo became her sanctuary after this 
second murder. It seemed as if Catalina sought to brave the 
God whom she had so often offended : her quarrelsome dispo- 
sition was developed every day in darker and more ferocious 
colours. Urquiza at length thought proper to part with her. By 
his influence he settled the Sana business, and he gave her letters 
of recommendation to his correspondent at Lima ; then putting 
a considerable sum into her hand to form a commercial esta- 
blishment wherever she pleased, he advised her to leave Truxillo. 
Catalina accordingly set out for Lima, with a strong recom- 
mendation to Don Diego Solarte, a rich merchant of that city. 

On reaching Lima, she took up her abode at Don Diego's 
house, but did not live there long in peace. It was in her 
nature to bring trouble into every family that received her as 
an inmate, and to place the spell of her strange existence upon 
all who came in contact with her. In Don Diego's house re- 
sided two young girls, the sisters of his wife. Catalina, in one of 
the singular whims of her imagination, and under the protection 
of her male attire, thought proper to make love to one of them. 
This mystification was so successful, that Don Diego de 



42 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Solarte one day proposed the celebration of this impossible 
marriage. Catalina, pressed to perform an engagement which 
was out of her power, and knowing that the consequence of her 
non-compliance would be the loss of her protector, resolved, from 
that moment, to be her own master, and to serve as her own pro- 
tector. She accordingly followed her first inclinations — those of 
war and battle. A corps for the government of Chili was then 
raising at Lima. She enlisted in one of the companies, and 
left Lima for La Concepcidn, about five hundred and forty 
leagues distant. 

This change in her life, far from being salutary, became, on 
the contrary, fatal to her. Her passions, already too ardent, 
were much increased by the horrible vice constantly before her 
eyes. Far from being shocked at those scenes, she became 
their apologist, and at the same time their victim. The 
most disastrous events found her always ready to execute any 
atrocity, and she never acquired the right of complaining of the 
rigour of her destiny. 

Don Alonzo de Rebeira was governor of Chili when Catalina 
arrived there. He had a secretary whose name caused a 
thrill through her frame : this name was Don Miguel de 
Erauso. It reminded her that during her childhood she had 
sometimes played with one of her brothers whose name was 
Miguel, and who, at the age of fifteen, had embarked for the 
Spanish Indies. Was it then this brother whom her singular 
fate was about to make her meet in this distant land ? She 
made inquiries, and found that it was indeed her brother. He was 
captain of one of the new companies levied for Chili. Catalina, 
attracted towards him by an inexplicable feeling — for this singular 
woman seems to have rejected every sentiment which nature 
usually implants in the most ferocious hearts — soon became 
intimate with Don Miguel de Erauso, who, seeing in Raminez 
de Gasman, the name she then bore, only a young countryman 
of daring bravery, at an age scarcely beyond adolescence, gave 
he]- not only his friendship, but his protection, and greatly con- 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 43 

tributed to her obtaining the title of alferez, or ensign, after 
the battle of Puren, at which she displayed prodigies of valour. 
It is truly marvellous to follow this woman into the thickest 
of the battle when she saw the Indians surrounding the Com- 
pany's banner. 

" Forward !'' she cried to her companions. 

Two only were bold enough to follow her. In a few moments 
one of the two fell with five arrows in his body. Catalina pressed 
forward her remaining companion, cutting her way with her sword 
and poniard to the Cacique, who had seized upon the Spanish 
banner. The soldier who followed her fell stricken with a death 
wound. She was then quite alone — yet alone she attacked, 
alone fought, and alone retook the banner from the Cacique, 
whom she killed. When her companions advanced to her assist- 
ance, they found her returning in triumph, but wounded and 
covered with the blood of the enemy, as well as her own. She 
had been struck by three arrows, had received a wound in her 
side from a laace, and a sabre cut on one of her legs. 

The banner she had retaken belonged to the company com- 
manded by Don Alonzo Moreno. It was given to her as her 
reward. 

The following interesting extract relative to this battle, and 
the valour displayed by Dona Catalina, is taken from the 
" Tahlas Cronologicas de la Historia de Espana^'''' by Don Jose 
de Sabau y Blanco. 

" The Araucanos again revolted in 1608, in the kingdom of 
Chili. They were at length reduced to submission, after 
several battles, the principal of which took place in the valley 
of Puren. The Indians were commanded by Caupolican, 
(the second.) Their shouts at first made the Spaniards 
fall back : but the latter, being animated by Francisco Perez 
Navarrete, a captain of great valour, returned to the charge, and 
completely routed the enemy, leaving their camp covered with 
slain. . Among those who gave proofs of valour in this battle, 
Catalina de Erauso, native of St. Sebastian, in the province of 



44 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Guipiiscoa, greatly distinguished herself. She fought in the dress 
of a soldier, and was promoted to the rank of alferez (ensign.) 
She afterwards went to Madrid to solicit the grade of captain. 
To justify her claim she fm-nished proofs of her bravery in 
several battles, in w^hich she was always the first to advance in 
the face of the enemy. The wounds with which she was co- 
vered gave ample testimony of the truth of her statements.'' 

At the second battle — that of Puren, alluded to by Don Jose — 
Dona Catalina happened to find herself just opposite to an Indian 
chief, whom she attacked with such energy that he was obliged 
to yield himself prisoner. He was a Spanish renegado ; a price had 
long been set upon his head by the governor, and in compliance 
with the orders of the Inquisition, Don Alonzo de Rebeira was 
anxious to get him alive in order to send him to Spain. Cata- 
lina, however, fancying that a renegado was but little better than 
a dog, hanged him to the first tree she met with. The name 
of this man was Francisco Quispiguancha. Thegovernot, vexed 
at the death of this prisoner, would not confer upon Alferez Alonzo 
Diaz (Catalina) the command of her company, then vacant by the 
death of its captain, who had been killed : on the contrary, she 
fell into disgrace, and was sent with a very few men to the Naci- 
nisento^ a dangerous ganison, where she had never a moment's 
rest, and could not lie down to sleep without being armed. Ne- 
vertheless, according to the statements of her contemporaries, and 
indeed of herself, she was happy amid alarms and dangers which 
any other person would have considered intolerable. To her ears, 
the shrieks of the dying A^Tetch had nothing repulsive — the sight 
of blood nothing horrible. 

She loved play Avith a sort of frenzy ; and the violence of her 
temper rendered her disgusting to those who only sought amuse- 
ment in it. She was therefore dreaded in the gaming-houses, 
which she always made a point of visiting whenever she arrived at" 
a town in which any existed. One day, after her return to La 
Concepci(5n, she was at play, and out of temper because she was 
losing. A dispute arose about a throw ; the banker wanted to 



DONA CATALINA DE EHAUSO. 45 

speak, but she ordered him to be silent. He replied with a 
word so insulting that Catalina became frantic with rage. 

" Dare to repeat that word,"" she said. 

The unhappy man did so, and had scarcely uttered it ere 
Catalina's sword was .buried in his heart. At this moment a 
young and noble Castilian, Don Francisco Parraga, auditor-gene- 
ral of Chili, entered the room. With the authority of his 1-ank 
and office, he ordered the ensign to leave the house. Catalina 
cast a glance of bitter contempt at him, and made no other reply 
than to draw her dagger with her left hand, whilst in her right 
she held her sword, still reeking with the blood of the unfor- 
tunate banker. Don Francisco repeated his order in a louder 
and more commanding voice, and at the same time seized Cata- 
lina by the upper part of her doublet, in order to enforce her 
obedience. As she felt his hand touch her bosom, she for a 
moment became an indignant woman ;^ but the stern and cruel 
soldier-soon avenged the outraged female. Raising her left arm, 
she stabbed Don Francisco in the face, and her dagger penetra- 
ted through his two cheeks. Then brandishing her sword and 
dagger, and casting a terrible look round the room, she sprang 
upon the stairs and disappeared before the terrified spectators 
could summon resolution to stop her. 

But though Catalina had succeeded in getting out of the 
house, she was not yet safe. She knew that the vengeance of 
the man she had wounded, w^ould be dreadful. She fully un- 
derstood her situation ; and the moment her fury was appeased, 
perceived the whole extent of the danger she had brought upon 
herself. There was only one mode of averting it : this was 
to seek the sanctuary of the cathedral, and thence retire to the 
adjoining convent of San Francisco. She had scarcely reached 
her asylum, when the governor arrived there in pursuit of her. 
Not daring to violate the sanctuary, he had it surrounded by his 
soldiers, and Catalina was thus blockaded during six months. It 
seemed, no doubt, singular to her — but to her alone who knew 
herself to be an apostate nun — that she should be thus besieged 



46 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

ill a monastery, not for the violation of her first vows, but for hav- 
ing killed two men with her woman's hand and her tiger"'s 
heart. 

She had a friend in her regiment : Don Juan de Silva, ensign 
of another company. One day he came to see her. She was 
walking, alone and sad, under the gloomy arcades of the church, 
uttering blasphemies against a seclusion which was becoming 
insupportable to her. Don Juan had just had a quarrel of so 
serious a natm'e that the satisfaction he required could not 
be deferred till the morrow, but was to be given at eleven o''clock 
the same night. On the rising of the moon, the two adversaries 
were to meet in a wood at a short distance from the ramparts. 

'' But I have no second," said Don Juan, " and I am come to 
request you will perform that office for me.'" 

The nun started at this appeal — this confidence in her courage 
sent a thrill through her heart. But a cloud suddenly crossed 
her brow — a thought had come betwixt her and her friend — she 
frowned as she looked at Don Juan with suspicion — she thought 
he wanted to betray her. 

" Why fight beyond the walls, and at such an hour ?'''' said 
she, fixing upon his countenance those eyes which always 
sparkled with a flame of the darkest ferocity. 

Don Juan made no reply. From her look and the tone of 
her voice, he had guessed her suspicions. 

" Alonzo !"' he said at length, " since you refuse me your 
services, I will go unattended ; for I have confidence in no 
one but you." 

" I will go ! I will attend you !" cried Catalina. 

The clock of the convent had just struck ten, when Don Juan 
came to fetch her. Both were wrapped in large brown capas^ 
under which they carried their swords, whilst the sombrero 
concealed their faces. 

"• These precautions vrould be more necessary at any other 
time," observed Catalina, as they both continually stumbled 
from the darkness of the niu'ht. 



DONA CATALINA DE EliAUSO. 47 

The moon had not yet risen ; the sky was overcast, the wea- 
ther stormy, and not a star to be seen. They found Don 
Juan's adversary, with his second, waiting for them. He who 
was to fight with Don Juan was a knight of St. Jago named 
Don Francisco de Rojas. The moment he perceived them 
coming towards him, he advanced to the skirt of the wood, 
took off his cloak, threw down his sombrero^ and addressing 
Don Juan, observed, that all reconciliation between them being- 
impossible, they had better not waste in useless words the time 
which might be more advantageously employed in the work of 
vengeance. Don Juan bowed in silence, drew his sword, and 
the combat began. 

Meanwhile, the two seconds, on the skirt of the wood, and 
close to the combatants, took care of the capas and sombreros^ 
concealing, however, their faces from each other, which Cata- 
lina seemed the most anxious to do. They would perhaps have 
quitted each other without recognition, had not Catalina, on 
seeing Don Juan receive a wound and stagger, cried out : 
" That was the blow of a base and cowardly traitor." 
" Thou liest !'' replied the second of Don Francisco de Rojas. 
Catalina approached the stranger with her dagger in her hand 
— in an instant two blades of steel sparkled in the shade, and 
the silence of the forest, which had been interrupted by the strife 
of the two principals only, was broken in upon by a second deadly 
combat, arising from no other cause than the insatiable thirst of 
a woman for blood. Scarcely were the hostile weapons opposed 
to each other, ere Don Francisco's friend fell, mortally wound- 
ed. He asked for a priest. On hearing the agonized cry 
of her victim, Catalina's heart became vulnerable for the first 
time. She thought she knew the voice, and leaning over 
the dying man, recognized by the uncertain light of the moon 
which had just risen, featm-es which struck her with horror and 
remorse. 

" Who are you, then ?'' she asked, as if reproaching her victim 
with the crime she had just committed. 



48 LIV^ES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" Captain Miguel de Erauso," replied the dying man. 

The unhappy woman had killed her brother. 

Pursued by the furies, she fled from the wood, where 
nothing now remained but prostrate bodies ; for just as this 
last catastrophe took place, Don Juan and Don Francisco 
had fallen, pierced by each other's sword, and both ex- 
pired with curses against each other on their lips. Catalina ran 
back to the convent and prevailed upon two monks to hasten 
to the fatal spot with assistance both for the soul and body. 
They found Don Miguel still alive ; but his wound had been 
inflicted by too sm-e a hand to allow any hopes of his recovery. 
He was conveyed to the governor's palace, where he expired soon 
after his arrival, but not until he had named his murderer, Avhom 
he had also recognized. 

'' The person who wounded me,'' he said to the governor, 
who was leaning over him to hear the words which he uttered 
with difficulty, " is Alferez Alonzo Diaz." 

The oovernor was much attached to Don Miguel de Erauso ; 
and being already much incensed against Diaz (Catalina) for the 
two preceding murders of the banker and the Auditor General, 
pretended, and with great reason, that the right of sanctuary 
ought to have its Imiits. He therefore placed himself at the 
head of a company of soldiers, and summoned the superior of 
the convent of San Francisco to deliver up Alferez Diaz to 
his justice. The monks, jealous of their privileges, replied by 
a positive refusal. The governor was determined to insist upon 
his demand ; but the superior of the convent. Fray Francisco de 
Otalora, showed an intention of making so determined a resist- 
ance, that the governor deemed it prudent to withdraw. He, 
however, had the convent invested by his guards. What would 
the superior have said, however, had he known that the being 
for whom he was braving the anger of so powerful a man, was a 
woman, — and more than that — a nun ? 

Don Miguel was buried in this convent, and his unhappy 
sister often went to pray upon his tomb. These moments were 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 49 

dreadful to her : remorse, in a bosom like her's, must have been 
Va most horrible feeling amid the uncontrolable passions which 
filled her soul. 

Her situation became at length so wretched, that on the 
expiration of the eighth month of her singular captivity, she de- 
termined to obtain her freedom at any price. I have already 
stated that she was a woman whom no danger could intimidate. 

To secure her safety, it was necessary that she should inhabit 
another territory, and the province of Tucuman was the only one 
in which she could find an asylum. But to reach it, she had 
only one road open to her, because a description of her person 
had been sent to every other. This road was considered im- 
practicable ; — it led across the wildest and most inaccessible 
part of the Andes, through eternal snow, where death might 
perhaps overtake her. '' I know all that,"" she replied to Don 
Juan Pouce de Leon, who urged these objections to her ; " but 
if death may perhaps overtake me there, it is sure to overtake 
me if I remain here : I cannot therefore hesitate."" 

Pouce de Leon secured her escape from the convent, and hav- 
ing received from him a horse, arms, ammunition, some provisions, 
and a small sum of money, she advanced boldly into the desert, 
where she felt almost sure of perishing. Three days after the 
commencement of her journey, she overtook two soldiers on 
horseback. Such a meeting, and in such a place, was well 
calculated to excite her apprehensions. The soldiers had 
equal reason to fear her, and the travellers accosted each other 
with mutual mistrust. These two men were malefactors who 
had fled from justice ; but Catalina saw in them only two men 
resolved to die rather than be taken. This was just what 
she wanted. She had the advantage of intellect over them, 
and made use of it to subdue them to her will. 

They long followed the sea coast. In these dreary wilds, the 
presence of man is almost unknown. The temporary hut of the 
nomadic shepherd, even at immense intervals of distance, is not 
to be seen. There is no fisherman's hut to oflPer its hospitable 

E 



50 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

roof to tlie weary traveller ; no inliabitant to welcome liim, even 
in an extent of territory equal to a European kingdom. Nothing 
strikes the eye but arid sand, intersected with, vast sheets of water, 
displaying here and there tufts of seaweed ; — the hand of man is 
nowhere visible. And yet this was the easiest part of their journey. 

The pro\isions of the travellers soon beginning to fail, they 
killed one of their horses, then a second, and afterwards the third. 
This last resoiu'ce was soon exhausted. They were at this time 
in the wildest part of the Andes. Ever since the preceding 
day, they had reached the frozen regions, and piercing cold 
added to the sufferings they already endm-ed. They walked 
with great difficulty, and often di'agged themselves on by seizing 
the frozen rocks. Catalina was by far the strongest of the thi-ee. 

On a sudden, one of her companions uttered a shout of joy; 
he saw a man smiling at him. The soldier had only strength to 
point out the stranger to his companions : he then fell upon the 
snow and called for help ; but he was past all human aid. 
Catalina, who had immediately perceived the stranger, ran for- 
ward, and saw a second close to him. She called to them in the 
language of the country, for they were Indians. But neither 
answered — both remained motionless, leaning against a block of 
ice. She approached them, they stirred not — there they stood 
with a smile upon their lips. But it was the smile of death — 
they were frozen to the block — they were stiff and cold. Cata- 
lina ran from this horrible sight to another that awaited her. 
Her companion who had fallen was to rise no more — death had 
overtaken him also. But Catalina's heart was not to be softened . 
by misfortune : casting an unmeaning glance at the body, she 
cried out to the siu'vivor : " Come along !" 

Next day the air was still colder. Catalina suffered so dread- 
fully, that she thought her end also approaching. But she had 
still many years to live ; — the sacrifice which God's justice 
might claim, was not yet accomplished for her. Towards even- 
ing, as the sun, with mockery in his bright cold beams, dis- 
appeared behind the mountain peaks, Catalina's remaining com- 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 51 

panion, weeping from the excess of his sufferings, laid himself 
upon the ground, and died, invoking the mercy of God. 

Alone in this horrible desert, Catalina was at length stricken 
with terror and despair. She shuddered as she looked around 
her. All was still and silent as the grave. No sound replied 
to her sighs. She was alone in this vast solitude, — she alone 
moved and breathed. Remorse began to stir within the heart 
of the apostate nun — she sat down and wept. It was the first 
time during her whole life that she had shed tears, and she 
was then nearly twenty-eight years old. But in such a situation, 
emotion, even at her own sufferings, could not long affect a 
mind like hers. She rose, and approaching the dead body, looked 
at it for a few seconds with cold attention, then, as if struck 
with a sudden thought, she stooped, searched the corpse, took 
from it all the money she could find, and resumed her journey, 
telling her beads — 

" Recommending myself,'^ as she states in her journal, " to the 
holy Mother of God, and to St. Joseph her glorious spouse.'"* 

She had scarcely proceeded a league farther when she per- 
ceived a sensible difference in the temperature. The cold was 
much less intense, and a warm breeze blew upon her face. 
She soon after saw trees, and a cultivated country at a little 
distance. She had at last quitted the kingdom of Chili, and 
entered the province of Tucuman. In a short time she per- 
ceived two men on horseback advancing towards her. 

" It did not for a moment enter my thoughts," she says, 
" whether these men were friends or foes ; they were human 
beings. But when I spoke to them and found that they were 
Christians, I thought I saw heaven open before me." 

The men took her to their mistress, a widow residing upon 
her estate with her two daughters. Catalina was kindly 
received and hospitably entertained by this family, and soon 
forgot the good resolutions formed during her short-lived repent- 
ance. She amused herself by trifling with the happiness of 
one of the girls. The poor mother, who thought that Catalina 

e2 



52 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Avas in reality the alferez Alonzo Diaz, proposed his becoming 
her son-in-law. Catalina accepted the offer, and preparations 
were made for the wedding. All the family proceeded to Tiicu- 
man, there to remain mitil the celebration of the marriage. But 
one morning Catalina mounted her mule and disappeared. 

From Tucuman she went to Potosi. Here she embraced a 
new profession, and the better to conceal herself from those who 
might be in search of her, engaged herself as steward to Don 
Juan Lopez de Arguijo, a rich and powerful nobleman. But 
though she had thrown aside the soldier's garb, she could 
not change her disposition. One day there was a battle in the 
streets, and she must needs be of the party. Obliged, in conse- 
quence, to leave Potosi, she again entered the army with supe- 
rior rank, and set out on an expedition against an Indian tribe. 
After several battles, in which she obtained sufficient plunder to 
make her desirous of repose, she applied for leave of absence. 
Being refused, she "deserted with several others, proceeded 
to the province of Charcas, and thence to Rio de la Plata. 
Here, after having squandered her money, probably at play, she 
was implicated in an affair of great importance in its conse- 
quences. Two women of high rank had a quarrel. One 
of them, Dona Francisca Marmolejo, niece to the Count de 
Lemos, received a wound in the face from an unknown hand, 
a short time after a violent dispute which she had had with the 
Marchioness of Chaves, Catalina's patroness, or rather the pa- 
troness of Alferez Alonzo Diaz. This was a serious matter, 
and the real truth was never known. Catalina was imprisoned 
and put to the torture, but she confessed nothing ; and in the 
history of her life, she only leaves matter for conjecture. At 
length she was liberated from prison, and being banished from 
Chili and La Plata, returned to Charcas. Being one day at the 
house of Don Antonio Calderon, the bishop's nephcM', and at 
play witli lier host, the principal of the college there, and a rich 
merchant from Seville, a dispute arose about the game. High 
words soon ensued, and on all such occasions Catalina was 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 53 

prompt with her sword and dagger. She drew them on this 
occasion, as she had formerly done in her quarrel with the au- 
ditor-general, and the unfortunate Seville merchant was killed. 
The officers of justice came ; but Catalina defended herself like 
a tiger at bay, and after receiving two wounds succeeded in 
making her escape. She sought refuge, as usual, under the 
shadow of the Cross ; and yet she never felt the slightest re- 
morse, when invoking the protection of this holy sign of the 
redemption of mankind. 

She at length escaped, and proceeded to Piscobamba, where 
she had another quarrel at the gaming-table with Don Fer- 
nando d'Acosta, a Portuguese nobleman. The love of play had 
in this woman, it seems, become a species of raging madness, 
which, joined to her ferocious disposition, rendered her as 
loathsome as she was dangerous. Abuse and threats were the 
only marks she left of her anger at the moment ; for the Portu- 
guese hung back. Two days after this incident, as Catalina 
Avas returning home in the middle of the night, she was attacked 
by a man whom she recognised as Don Fernando d'Acosta. 
She received no hurt, but inflicted a mortal wound upon her 
aggressor. Being apprehended for this murder, she was again 
put to the rack, but denied the truth of the accusation with 
a firmness unequalled even in a man of the strongest mind. 
Her judges condemned her to be hanged. Still she did not 
reveal her sex, which would have saved her life ; but displayed 
at the very foot of the gallows, the same indomitable courage. 
Addressing the executioner, who was bungling with the rope : 

" Put it well on, or let me alone ; these holy fathers will 
do it,''"' she said, pointing to the priests who attended her, but to 
whom she had previously refused to make any confession. 

Just as she was about to be launched into eternity, her pardon 
arrived from La Plata, where she had powerful friends ever 
since Dona Franciscans adventure. It was urged that she had 
been condemned upon false evidence, and orders were imme- 
diately dispatched to set her at liberty. 



54 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

So iiiaiiv niisfortuncs, and the dreadful dangers she had in- 
curred, might naturally be supposed to have induced her to 
alter her mode of life. (No such thing : her evil destiny urged 
her on.V New travels led to fresh crimes ; and this woman, 
after abjuring her mission upon earth, had become a strange 
and terrible being, whose human nature was lost in brutal fero- 
city. She was by nature so cruel, that when an action had a 
praiscAvorthy object, she performed it with regi-et. 

Being at Cochabamba, she was one evening riding on her mule 
past the house of Don Pedro de Chavarria, whose wife, Dona Maria 
Davalos, was a beautiful and fascinating woman. As she passed, 
she heard a great noise in the house, and at the same instant two 
monks rapidly issuing from it, stopped under a small balcony. 
A window was opened at the same instant, and having assisted 
Dona Maria in descending from it into the street, they immediately 
placed her upon the mule behind Catalina, crying out, 

"For God''s sake save her ! Her husband has surprised her 
Avith Don Antonio Calderon, the bishop's nephew. He has 
killed this caballero, and wants to kill his wife. For God's 
sake, Senor Captain, take her out of his reach !"" 

Without waiting for Catalina's answer one of the monks struck 
the mule with his cord, and off the poor beast set at a gallop. 
Thus was the nun-soldier ens^asred in the adventure without her 
own consent. As they went along, Catalina heard the poor 
Avonian sobbing behind her ; and the tears of the guilty wife 
fell upon the fresh stains of her lover's blood — of that lover 
who had been killed in her arms ! " Great God !" she cried, 
why should I be saved ? I should wish to die also.'^. 

Catalina felt a sort of pity. Her lips were but little formed 
for Avords of consolation ; but on this occasion she found ex- 
pressions of mildness, and they Avere heard by the unhappy Avife, 
Avhom by degrees Catalina soothed and brought to think of her 
immediate safety. On asking Dona Maria whither she Avished 
to go, she requested to be taken to her mother, Avho was a nun 
in a convent founded by herself, at La Plata. Catalina ac- 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 55 

cordingly took the road to this city ; but on reaching the banks 
of the river La Plata they found neither boat nor boatmen. 
It was, however, necessary to cross the river immediately ; for 
since they had been stopped for want of a boat, the practised ear 
of the alferez had caught sounds from a distance borne on 
the fresh breeze in one of those beautiful nights in the New 
World where Nature is at the same time so peaceful and so ani- 
mated. They had not an instant to lose, for these sounds might 
proceed from the galloping of Don Pedro''s horse 

" Commend your soul to God," said Catalina to Dona 
Maria, " for we are going to cross." 

At the same moment she urged her mule into the stream, which 
they fortunately crossed in safety. After a short rest in a venta^ 
they continued their journey to La Plata. Just as Dona Maria 
perceived the cathedral, and was giving thanks to God for her 
safety, the galloping of a horse was heard behind them, and two 
shots from a carbine sent a ball through Catalina^s collar, and 
another among Dona Maria's hair, a lock of which it carried 
away. Don Pedro was close at their heels ; but his horse 
appeared completely worn out. 

" Vamos ! vamos r cried Catalina, urging her mule forward. 
At length they reached the convent. 

The alferez was now ready to give Don Pedro satisfaction ; 
but prudent perhaps for the first time, she neither sought 
nor avoided him. On leaving the convent, she walked up 
and down the aisle of the church. She had been there but 
a few minutes when a man approached her, who seemed 
foaming with rage. Without respect for the sanctity of the 
place, the stranger drew his sword and violently attacked Cata- 
lina, uttering at the same time the most horrible imprecations. 
Taken thus unawares, she was severely wounded ere she could 
defend herself; but having retreated a few paces, she drew 
her sword and returned like a raging tiger to her assailant, 
who turned out to be Don Pedro, and she soon inflicted 
so dreadful a wound upon him that he fell almost dead upon 



56 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

the steps of the altar, which was covered with his blood ; — for 
the combatants, in the blindness of rage, had both forgotten 
that they were in a temple of God. Catalina also was losing 
blood. The people began to mm-mnr, and she Avas about to be 
led away to prison, when two Franciscan monks, sent by Dona 
Maria's mother, placed her betw^een them, and conducted her to 
their convent, Avhere she remained until lier wounds were healed. 

It is a remarkable fact tliat this is the only action of Catalina's 
adventurous life in which she had no personal object to attain ; 
it was, in a manner, forced upon her. 

It was jDrobably the absence of good intention that prevented 
her from receiving the reward of this action. Some time after it 
occurred, she went to Cuzco, Avhere she was thrown into prison 
on suspicion of having mm'clered the Corregidor, Don Luis 
Godoy, a man of high birth and g-reat attainments. But the 
guilty person having been discovered, she was liberated, after 
a captivity of five months. 

-\ From this unjust detention her ungovernable temper became 
doubly ferocious ; and she plunged into the most horrible ex- 
cesses, conceiving that she was now justified in contending with 
fate, and committing a crime for every unjust punishment in- 
flicted on her. Providence, however, had an awful trial in 
store for her. 

In this state of mind she was liberated from her confinement. 
Being one day with the treasurer of the crown, at whose house 
she lived as Alferez Alonzo Diaz Ramirez de Gusman, a man 
entered the room who had a great reputation at Cuzco for the 
elegance of his manners, and his success in society. He w^as 
young, handsome, and proud, and enjoyed so high a reputation 
for bravery, that he bore the name of the iVew; Ctd, It w^as 
this title, no doubt, that displeased Catalina. She hated the 
Cid, for slie was jealous of him ; and every time they met, an 
unpleasant altercation took place. 

On the evening alluded to, the Cid having approached the 
table at which Catalina was playing, she frowned dreadfully, and 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 57 

her countenance, naturally dark and sinister, assumed a most 
hideous expression. The Cid remained close to her, and his 
hand, whether from inattention or for the purpose of braving her, 
was placed upon her money. At first she said nothing, and con- 
tinued her game ; but on a sudden she drew her dirk, and with 
a terrible blow pinned the Cid's hand to the table. 

'' Let no one approach,'^ she cried, drawing her sword ; "he 
was robbing me — I perceived it, and have punished him." 

She was, however, soon overpowered by numbers, and receiv- 
ed three wounds before she could reach the door. She never- 
theless succeeded in getting into the street, where she mustered 
the strongest party, all her friends rallying around her. 

There was now army against army ; for the Cid breathing 
nothing but death and revenge, had come forth at the head of 
his supporters, in search of Alferez Diaz. 

The two parties agreed to settle their quarrel in a more re- 
tired spot ; but as, on their way thither, they passed the church 
of San Francisco, the Cid suddenly sprang upon Catalina, and 
with his dagger pierced her shoulder through and through. At 
the same time one of the Cid's friends ran his sword into her 
left side. This last wound brought her to the ground ; the 
blood gushed from her in torrents, and she fainted. 

Her friends, meanwhile, fought over her prostrate body. The 
sound of estocadas and puTieladas recalled her to her senses. 
She opened her eyes, and looking round her, perceived the Cid 
standing with folded arms upon the steps of the church, and 
regarding her defeated friends with a smile of triumph. In 
this attitude he seemed like a victorious archangel ! Cata- 
lina was roused to desperation at the sight, and collected the 
remains of her strength for a single and last effort. As if by 
an act of her will, the blood ceased to flow from her wounds. 
She dragged herself along among the dead bodies, until she 
reached the foot of the steps upon which the Cid stood ; 
and then suddenly rising, appeared covered with blood before 
her enemy. He started back in horror. 



58 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" Ah !" lie cried, " are you still alive ?" and raised his dag- 
ger to plunge it into her bosom. But before his arm could de- 
scend, she sprang upon him like lightning, and stabbed him to 
the heart. He fell, and his body rolled down the steps of the 
cathedral among those of his friends and enemies. Catalina, who 
seemed to have waited but for the consmnmation of her revenge, 
fell also, her blood mingling with that of her dead adversary. 

She however survived, and was taken care of, and her 
wounds healed, by the monk Fray Luis Ferrer de Valencia, to 
whom, under the secrecy of confession, she declared her sex. Her 
recovery was tedious ; during five long months she lingered 
upon a bed of sickness. At length she was completely cured ; 
but she was beset with dangers which made death stare her in 
the face under a thousand different forms. This was calculated 
to strike terror even into a heart like her's ; for a secret 
attack, behind which death lies in ambuscade, is always, even 
to the boldest, an object of alarm. The friends of the Cid had 
sworn to avenge his death ; they had taken the oath over his 
still bleeding corpse, and Catalina had little chance of escape. 
But she also had friends ; they urged her to quit Cuzco ; 
and one night she set out in a litter — ^for she was still very weak 
— escorted by her slaves, well armed, and took the direction 
of the southern provinces. 

In this manner she travelled several months, and much more 
peaceably than she was wont. It was evident that this long and 
painful illness had greatly changed, not only her habits, but her 
temper. She was melancholy, and was oftan seen at prayers and 
in deep meditation. It is very probable that the sight of death, 
so long seated at her bedside, and which had left her only after a 
cruel and arduous struggle, had wrought a gi-eat change in her 
mind. It was at this period of her life, and while suffering 
under the prolonged weakness resulting from the eight wounds 
she had received in this last conflict, that she resolved to go 
to Guamanga, and see the bishop of that place, a man of high 
renown in the Spanish Indies. 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 59 

In tlie several accounts of the Monja-Alferez, an incident 
is related truly characteristic of her energy and presence of 
mind : it occurred on her way to Guamanga. 

Being at Guancavelica, she was one day walking through the 
streets of the town, and had just bowed to Dr. Solorzano the 
Alcade de Corte of Lima, when she observed an alguacil turn 
his head and examine her as he passed, and then join the alcade^ 
to whom he showed a paper : this they both read, and then looked 
towards her. As Catalina was in a situation to dread everything 
unusual, she paid great attention to what was going on. The 
alguacil at length approached her and bowed profoundly ; she 
returned his civility, as she herself states, with a still lower bow. 
But she soon perceived that she was followed ; for on ad- 
vancing towards the gates of the town, she found a negro con- 
stantly at her elbow : he did not quit her an instant. Her 
danger being now manifest, and the alguacil already in sight 
with two of his companions, she determined on getting rid of 
the negro. The sight of a small pistol which she drew forth, was 
sufficient for this ; the black fell with his face in the dust. Cata- 
lina then ran forward and got outside the town. At about a 
hundred yards from the gates, she met a negro leading a horse 
by the bridle ; the animal, as she afterwards discovered, belonged 
to the alcade. Having pushed the black aside, she mounted the 
horse, and set off at full speed on the road to Guamanga ; and 
when the officers of justice arrived to seize her, they saw nothing . 
but a distant cloud of dust. 

Having crossed the river Balsas, she thought she might with 
safety take a little rest ; she therefor^ alighted, and seated 
herself upon the river bank. A short time after, three men 
coming from Guancavelica reached the opposite bank, and en- 
tered the ford of the river. These individuals were unknown 
to her ; nevertheless, when they had reached the middle of the 
passage, a sort of instinct induced her to question them, and 
they replied with great civility. 

" Whither are you going, brave men V she asked« 



60 LIVES OF CELEBRAETD WOMEN. 

'' SeTior Capitaii^'^ replied one of tliem, " we are come to 
take you/' 

" Oh, oil !"" retm-ned Catalina, rising, " that is not easily 
done/' And pulling out a brace of pistols, she cocked them. 
" I will not be taken alive,'' she continued : " do your worst." 

" We will do nothing to displease you, Senor Capitan — 
nothing but our duty : only we have been sent after you." 

" Oh ! is that all ? wait a moment." 

As this conversation passed, the three officers of justice stood in 
the water, at the risk of having their legs bitten off by alligators. 
They thirsted not for the death of any one : all they wanted 
was money. This Catalina fully understood ; and taking three 
doubloons of gold from her purse, placed the money upon a 
stone at the water's edge, politely bowed to the three constables, 
who were by no means beliindhand in returning the civility, and 
lightly vaulting upon the horse belonging to the Alcade de Corte 
of Lima, pursued her road to Guamanga. 

On reaching that city, she could not make up her mind to go 
immediately to the bishop ; and she hesitated for some days as 
to the line of conduct she should adopt in her critical situation. 
But the danger was pressing, and a safe asylum urgent. She 
had been signalled as a mm-derer, and a dangerous man, through- 
out every government in Spanish America ; and soon after her 
arrival, the corregidor of Guamanga received orders from the 
Viceroy of Lima, to an-est Alferez Alonzo Diaz Ramii-ez de 
Gusman. The magistrate attempted to obey tliis order; but 
Catalina, detemiined to die rather than fall into the hands of 
justice, defended herself like a lion attacked in its lair. The 
conflict became so dreadful that the bishop, who happened to 
be in the neighbourhood, interfered as mediator, and it was agreed 
that the alferez should have his palace for a prison. When 
Catalina found herself safe in the bishop's residence, whether 
from true repentance, or because she saw that it was the only 
way of escaping the gallows, she confessed everything to the 
venerable prelate, who gave her absolution on condition that 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 61 

slie should resume, not only tlie dress of lier sex, but tliat of a 
nun, and enter a convent at Ouanianga. To this she consented ; 
she was reconciled to the church, and entered the convent of Santa 
Clara, in the year 1620, being then twenty-eight years of age. 

On the death of the bishop, which occurred soon after, 
the Archbishop of Lima sent to Guamanga for her, and a mag- 
nificent suite came to accompany her. She travelled in a splen- 
did litter, escorted by six clerigos^ four monks, and six noble- 
men. On her arrival at Lima, she was conveyed to the archiepis- 
copal palace ; and next day the Viceroy, Don Francisco de Borja, 
Count of Magalde, and Prince of Esquilaci, came to see her. 

The archbishop told her she must enter a convent. She re- 
quested to see all the convents at Lima before she selected one. 
The prelate having consented, she visited them all, remained 
five days in each, and at length fixed upon that of Santa Trini- 
dad, of the order of St, Bernard. There she remained two years, 
at the expiration of which time she received an answer to a letter 
she had written to Spain, informing her, that if she had not 
yet taken the veil, and would pledge herself to leave the 
convent with a proper sense of her religious duties, she was at 
liberty to return to her native country. 

She immediately quitted America. She sailed from Cartha- 
gena, in 1624, in the fleet commanded by Thomas Larraspura. 
During the voyage to Spain, she had a quarrel at play, and was 
obliged to go on board another ship. Her strength of body had 
returned, and with it her former passions and hatred of restraint. 

On the 1st of November 1624, she landed at Cadiz,'^ whence 
she proceeded to Seville ; and wherever she went, the crowd 
pressed upon her so as to impede her progress. "Za Monja- 
Alferezl la Monja-Alferez ! (the nun-ensign!)'^ everyone ex- 
claimed. 

Anxious to go first to Rome, she passed through Madrid 
without discovering herself to any one, proceeded to Pam- 
peluna, and crossed a part of the French territory ; but on her 
arrival in Piedmont, she was robbed, thrown into prison, and 



62 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

afterwards compelled to return to Spain. She went stralgixi u* 
Madrid, and presented a memorial to Pliilip IV. soliciting assist- 
ance and a recompense for her military services in the Indies. Her 
claims being referred to the council of the Indies, she followed 
them up with the same perseverance which she displayed in every- 
thing she undertook, and obtained a pension of eighteen hundred 
crowns, with permission to call herself the " Alferez Dona Cata- 
lina de Erauso." 

She again set out for Rome, and reached it this time 
in safety. Having presented a petition to Urban VIII. who 
then filled the pontifical chair, a brief was expedited which re- 
conciled her entirely with the Church, and authorized her to 
wear man's clothes during the remainder of her life, on condition 
that she never used any offensive weapon, that she respected 
God's imao^e in her neidibour, and feared God's vengeance — 
" T'erniendo^'''' as she herself says, " la ulcion de Dios^ 

She also relates how kindly she was entertained by the car- 
dinals and Roman nobility. At Rome she spent a month, 
dming which she dined every day with one or other of the 
princes of the church. At length, after having seen the Pope 
officiate at St. Peter's, she departed on the 29th of June 1626, 
and returned to Spain by way of Naples, exciting everywhere 
the most intense cmiosity. 

The last years of her life are somewhat involved in obscurity. 
It is however certain that she resumed her wanderings, and 
returned to America in 1630, in the fleet commanded by Don 
Miguel de Echezarretta. Just before her departure, the cele- 
brated Pacheco painted her portrait at Seville, and from this 
portrait, now in the gallery of Colonel Bertold Sheppeler, at Aix- 
la Chapclle, is copied that of the Monj a- Alferez at the head of 
this memoir. The documents which prove her existence and 
extraordinary adventures are numerous and authentic. Don 
^Maria de Ferrer, who edited her Life written by herself, has 
collected every proof that her existence is not one of those extra- 
ordinary dreams of the imagination which sometimes convert his- 



DONA CATALINA DE ERAUSO. 63 

tory into romance. Recently again at Madrid, Don Juan Perez 
de Montalvan, a celebrated Spanish dramatist, wrote a comedy in 
three acts, entitled " La Monja-Alferez.'" 

After reading the life of this extraordinary woman, the mind 
is struck not only with astonishment, but with a stronger feel- 
ing. The study of the human heart seems incomplete in the 
presence of such a phenomenon, combining a strange assemblage 
of all the hardy qualities required in the chivalry of the 
middle ages, even strength of bodj, but devoid of the slightest 
quality belonging to a woman. | She was, nevertheless, admi- 
rably chaste in her conduct : she perfectly understood the 
feeling of inherent modesty born with woman, and it was 
never violated by her,> It was only in this that she pre- 
served a shade of the character of the sex. She kept her person 
•pure and undefiled amid the vices and disorders of a soldier's 
life, which she led from her very entrance into the world ; and 
this remarkable feature of her life is not the least important in 
rendering her one of the most extraordinary beings in the history 
of Spain during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 



* It is curious to read her own account of it in her journal, which, as 
I have already stated, might pass for memoirs of her life. I will here ex- 
tract the passage in which she relates her flight from the convent. The 
careless brevity with which she mentions every thing likely to excite emotion 
in a girl of her age, is really remarkable : — 

" Sali del coro, tome una luz; fuime a la celda de mi tia, tome alii unas 
tijeras, y hilo, y una aguja. Tome unos reales de a ochos, que alii estaban, 
tome las Haves del convento y sali, y fui abriendo puertas y empare jandolas, 
y en la ultima que fue la dela calle, deje mi escapulario y mi sali a la calle, 
sin haber visto ni saber por donde echar, ni a donde me ir. Tire non so 
por donde, y fui &, dar en un castanar que esta fuera." 

(I left the choir — I took a light and went to my aunt's cell, where I took 
a pair of scissors, some thread, and a needle. I also took some pieces of 
eight which were there, and the keys of the convent, and then left the cell. I 
opened and shut the doors gently, and when I had reached the last, opening 
into the street, I threw oif my scapulary and went out into the street, without 
having the least idea what road to take or whither to go. I, however, ran 
forward until I reached a chestnut grove,) 



j^ LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

- Without the scapulary, and with her veil over her eyes, a nun at that 
period might have passed unnoticed through the crowd. She has not 
however stated, in any part of her journal, how she obtained the materials to 
make her male attire. I think, from the particular description she gives of 
tliis new dress, that she must have made it out of her petticoats; for in 
those days females wore eight or nine petticoats, extremely full and wide, 
and made precisely of the perpetuan, or strong woollen stuff, of which 
she speaks. 

^ See " Las Tablas Cronologicas de la Historia de Espana," by Don 
Jose de Sabau y Blanco, 

4 Y dijome que mi cortaria la cara. (He told me he would cut my face.) 

5 It is well known that at this period convents and churches were sacred 
places of refuge which temporal justice dared not violate. 

6 As a woman, Catalina's conduct was always extremely correct. During 
her long residence in camps, her fellow-soldiers never had the slightest sus- 
picion of her sex. 

' Her arrival at Cadiz is mentioned in a diario of the period, now in the 
archives of the Indies at Seville, as is also the original of her memorial 
presented to the King and to the Count d'Olivares, then prime minister. 




.i:.;A..n„Ur 



:Bi£^ivnriE}is: .c^i^Misi. 






■:,.„..^,,/..^v;.;>y^:-/^<, /;v,./ ,i: a:^:.-^^„.ts /Ar;,rjcnu-r,n/,M. 



65 



BEATRICE CENCI. 

In an obscure part of Rome, near the Ghetto, or quarter of 
the Jews, stands a large gloomy pile, which, though partially 
modernized, retains all the characteristics of a feudal palace. 
Its foundations are seated upon the ruins of an ancient amphi- 
theatre, and its walls were probably raised, like most of the 
palaces in the Christian capital, at the expense of some noble 
monument of antiquity. A darkly tragic history, involving the 
fate of one of the oldest Patrician families of Rome, and end- 
ing in its extinction, is connected with this building. It is a 
tale of suffering and of blood — one in which the most mon- 
strous perversity distorts the best and gentlest feelings of human 
nature, and converts a mild and lovely woman into a parricide.^ 

The record of such crimes, though it raises a thrill of breath- 
less horror, conveys at the same time a useful lesson. To 
watch the effects of a continued career of vice, or to trace the 
warping of an ardent but virtuous mind under the pressure of 
accumulated and unheard-of injuries, is to study a most im- 
portant page in the book of mankind. Precept is powerful, no 
doubt ; but when a terrific picture is placed before us, and the 
fearful reality brought home to the senses, it leaves a much 
more lasting impression. 

Such is my object in relating the events which follow ; as 
well as to show, that even the production of a positive good is 
not only no justification for crime, but that such crime leads to 
certain and irreparable evil. Here we have a daughter inflict- 
ing death upon an iniquitous father; and while a deep and 
soul-stirring interest is awakened by the sorrows and sufferings 
of Beatrice Cenci, a horror of the crime she committed will 
ever couple her name with infamy. 



Q6 LI\ ES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Count Nicolo Cenci was the last living descendant of an 
ancient and noble house. In early life he had entered the eccle- 
siastical state, risen to the prelacy, and held, under the Pontifi- 
cate of Pius v., the office of Treasurer to the Apostolic cham- 
ber. Being at length the sole survivor of his race, he resolved, 
thouo'h somewhat advanced in years, to return to secular life and 
marry — a practice not uncommon in the sixteenth centmy. At 
his death he left an only son, the inheritor of his honours and 
immense wealth. 

This son, the child of his old age and of his ambition, was 
Francesco Cenci, the father of Beatrice. The curse of iniquity 
seemed entailed upon him from his cradle. He was one of 
those human monsters which, bad as man may be, are the 
anomalies of the species ; woe and despair were the ministers to 
his enjoyments, and the very atmosphere tainted with his breath 
was pregnant with death or misfortune to all who came within its 
influence. Before he had reached his twentieth year, he mar- 
ried a woman of great beauty and noble birth, who, after bearing 
him seven children, and while still young, died a violent and 
mysterious death. Very soon after, he married Lucrezia Strozzi, 
by whom he had no family. 

Count Francesco Cenci was a stranger to every redeeming 
virtue of the human heart. His whole life was spent in de- 
bauchery, and in the commission of crimes of the most un- 
speakable kind. He had several times incurred the penalty of 
death, but had purchased his pardon from the papal government 
at the cost of a hundred thousand Roman crowns for each 
offence. IpVs he advanced in years, he conceived a most im- 
placable hatred towards his children.^ To get rid of his three 
eldest sons, he sent them to Spain, where he kept them without 
the common necessaries of life. They contrived, however, to 
return to Rome, and throw themselves at the feet of the Pope, 
who compelled their unnatural father to make them an allowance 
suitable to their rank. Their eldest sister, cruelly tortured at 
home, likewise succeeded, though with great difficulty, in mak- 



BEATRICE CENCl. 67 

ing an appeal to tlie Pontiff, and was removed from her father's 
roof. She died a few years after. 

When these victims of Count Cenci's hatred were thus placed 
beyond his reach, the vindictive old man became almost frantic 
with passion. But his wife, his daughter Beatrice, his son Ber- 
nardino, and a boy still younger, were yet in his power ; and 
upon them he resolved to wreak his vengeance by the infliction 
of tenfold wretchedness. 

I To prevent Beatrice from following her sister's example, he 
shut her up in a remote and unfrequented room of his palace, 
no longer the seat of princely magnificence and hospitality, but 
a gloomy and appalling solitude, the silence of which was never 
disturbed, except by shouts of loose revelry, or shrieks of 
despair."'^^ 

^'-^ So long as Beatrice remained a child, her father treated her 
with extreme cruelty. But years sped on ; the ill-used child 
grew up into a woman of surpassing loveliness, and the hand 
raised to fell her to the earth, became gradually relaxed, and at 
last fell powerless. The soul of the stern father had melted be- 
fore her matchless beauty, and his ferocious nature seemed sub- 
dued. But it was only the deceitful calm that precedes the 
tempest: - 

Just before this change took place, Beatrice's two brothers, 
Cristoforo and Vocio, were found murdered in the neighbour- 
hood of Rome. The crime was ascribed to banditti, but it 
was generally believed that a parent's hand had directed the 
assassin's dagger. Be that as it may, the wicked old Count re- 
fused the money necessary to bury his sons, alleging that he would 
wait until the other members of his hated family were cut off, 
and then spend the whole of his fortune in giving them all a 
magnificent funeral. 

Count Cenci's unusual mildness towards his daughter, seemed 
at first to have its origin in a redeeming virtue which had im- 
perceptibly stolen into his heart. Beatrice received the marks 
of his assumed kindness as a blessing of Providence ; they 

f2 



68 LIVES or CELEBRATEI> WOMEN. 

called forth the kindliest emotions of her nature, and her heart 
overflowed with g-ratitiide. But the real cause of the Counts 
change of conduct was soon revealed. He h?.d indeed been 
moved bv his daughter's beauty, though not by paternal affec- 
tion. The Avretched man had dared to contemplate the most 
unhallowed crime that ever blackened the annals of human de- 
pravity ; and when this became manifest to Beatrice, she shrank 
back in horror and affright, her features were convulsed 
with agony, and the most appalling thoughts shot through her 
brain. Now beo^an that mental struo-afe which ended in the 
perversion of her nature, and led to the frightful catastrophe 
that ensued. 

Beatrice Cenci, though the most gentle and affectionate of 
her sex, had nevertheless a fimi and energetic soul. With all 
the attributes of feminine loveliness, with endowments that 
rendered her the ornament of society, she had a resoluteness of 
purpose, and an energy of courage, which nothing could shake. 
To this may be added a keen sense of injury. A mind of such 
a stamp, goaded by years of the most revolting cruelty, and re- 
cently outraged by a loathsome and unutterable attempt, was 
the more likely, upon taking a wTong bias, to advance recklessly 
on to crime. Beatrice was, besides, excited by a. powerful and 
all-absorbing idea. Strongly imbued with the religious fanati- 
cism of the age in which she lived, she imao-ined that, if her father 
persevered in his monstrous course, her soul would be for ever 
contaminated, and both parent and child excluded from eternal 
salvation. Hence despair fixed its fangs upon her heart, and 
smothered her better feelings. She at first contemplated the 
possibility of her father's death as the only chance of avei-ting 
the threatened evil ; and as her mind became familiarized with this 
idea, she gradually brought herself to think that she was called 
upon, if not to anticipate the will of Providence, at least to act 
as its instrument. It is probable that her resolution was 
strengthened, by witnessing the cruelties daily inflicted upon her 
step-n!()tlier and her two vouno-est brothers. 



BEATRICE CENCl. 69 

Ever since Count Cencrs hatred of Beatrice had yickled to a 
more atrocious sentiment, she had enjoyed greater freedom, and 
the fame of her beauty soon spread through Rome. Numerous 
suitors offered themselves to her notice; but she beheld them all 
with indifference, except Monsignore Guerra, an intimate friend 
of Giacomo, her eldest brother. This young man was hand- 
some, valiant, accomplished, and her equal in rank. He had 
entered the church, and was then a prelate ; but he intended to 
obtain a dispensation to marry, as Beatrice's grandfather had done. 
He loved Beatrice with the most devoted affection, which she 
as warmly returned. Count Cenci was jealous of all who ap- 
proached his daughter, and the lovers could only converse in 
private when the Count was from home. For some months, 
he had seldom left his palace, and the cause of this sedentary 
life was but too apparent, not only to Beatrice, but to the 
Countess. 

Lucrezia was a kind step-mother. There is a bond in the 
fellowship of suffering which begets affection, and Beatrice had 
always found sympathy and consolation in her father's wife. 
Into the bosom of the Countess she now jioured the tale of her 
despair, forcibly directed her attention to the abyss upon the 
brink of which they all stood, and ultimately succeeded in making 
her mother-in-law a convert to her views and purposes. For the 
first time, perhaps, a wife and her step-daughter conspired the 
death of a husband and father. Trembling for their safety, and 
dreading the most fearful violence, — led, moreover, by the su- 
perstitious fanaticism with which, in those days of blindness, 
Christianity was debased, to take a false view of futurity, two 
feeble women dared to conceive a crime that would have appalled 
the stoutest-hearted villain. 

The lover of Beatrice was made the depositary of this dread- 
ful secret, and his assistance solicited. Guerra loved his beau- 
tiful mistress too ardently to question the propriety of any- 
thing she resolved upon, and, as her blind slave, he readily as- 
sumed the management of the plot. Having first communicated 



70 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

the nuitter to Giacomo, and wrung from liim a, perhaps reluctant 
concurrence, he next undertook to provide the murderers. These 
were soon found. The vassals of Count Cenci abhorred him as 
an insufferable t}Tant ; among them were Marzio and Olimpio, 
both of whom burned Avith Italian vindictiveness and hatred of 
their feudal lord. Marzio, besides, madly and hopelessly- 
loved Beatrice. He was sent for to the Cenci palace, where, 
after a few gentle words from the syren, and the promise of a 
princely reward, he accepted the bloody mission ; and Olimpio 
was induced to join him from a desire of avenging some personal 
WTongs. 

The first plan fixed upon by the conspirators was one likely 
to escape detection ; nevertheless, from some cause now unknowai, 
it was abandoned. Count Cenci intended spending a year at 
Rocca-di-Petrella, a castle situated among the Apulian Apen- 
nines. It belonged to his friend Mal'zio Colunna, who had 
placed it at his disposal. A number of banditti posted in the 
w^oods near the castle were to have attacked the Count on his 
way thither, seized his person, and demanded so heavy a ransom 
that he could not possibly have the sum with him. His sons 
w^ere to propose fetching the money, and, after remaining some 
time absent, to return and declare that they had been unable to 
raise so large an amount. The Count was. then to be put to 
death. 

The difficulties wdiich arose to prevent the adoption of 
this plan, certainly offering the best chances of escape from 
the consequences of the crime, are involved in obscurity ; but 
the hand of Providence is here apparent. The murder was 
adjourned to some more convenient opportunity, and Count 
Cenci set out with his wife, his daughter, and his tw^o youngest 
sons, for Rocca-di-Petrella. 

It raises feelings of horror and disgust, as we follow this 
family party in their slow progress across the Pontine marshes, 
meditating against each other, as they journeyed on, crimes the 
most revolting to human nature. Thev moved forward like a 



BEATRICE CENCI. 71 

funeral procession. On reaching Rocca-di-Petrella, the Count 
immediately began to carry his designs against Beatrice into 
execution. 

Day after day, the most violent scenes took place, and they 
but strengthened Beatrice in her desperate resolution. At 
length she could hold out no longer ; and the rage of madness 
took possession of her mind. One day — it Avas the 4th of 
September 1598 — after a most trying interview with her* father, 
she threw herself, in an agony of horror, into the arms of Lucre- 
zia, and exclaimed in a hoarse, broken voice : 

" We can delay no longer : — he must die." 

An express was that instant despatched to Monsignore 
Guerra ; the murderers received immediate instructions, and on 
the evening of the 8th, reached Rocca-di-Petrella. Beatrice 
turned pale on hearing the signal which announced their arrival. 

" This is the Nativity of the Virgin," said she to the Countess, 
" we must wait till to-morrow ; for why should we commit a 
double crime ?''^ 

Thus was a most heinous offence, no less than the murder of 
a father and a husband, deferred because the Church prohibited 
all kind of work on the day of the Virgin Mary's nativity. 
Such were the feelings of these two women ; and such, I may 
safely aver, were the feelings of every desperate villain in Italy, 
at that period. Even Francesco Cenci, whose atrocities have 
found no parallel in ancient or modern times, built a chapel and 
established masses for the repose of his soul. Religion was no 
check : it was only a refuge or sanctuary against punishment ; 
and it served but to convince the dying criminal who had strictly 
observed its outward forms, of his certain passport to heaven.-^^. 

On the following evening, Beatrice and Lucrezia administered 
an opiate to Count Cenci, of sufficient strength to prevent him 
from defending his life. A short time after he had taken it, he 
fell into a heavy sleep. 

When all was silent in the castle, the murderers were admitted 
bv Beatrice, who conducted them into a long gallery, leading to 



72 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

the Count's bed-room. Tlie women were soon left to tliemselves ; 
and strong as was their determination, and deep the sense of 
their wrongs, this moment must have been appalling to both. 
They listened in breathless anxiety — not a sound was audible. 
At length the door of the Count's room was opened, and the 
murderers rushed out horror-stricken. 

" Oh God !" said Marzio, in dreadfid agitation, " I cannot kill 
that old man. — His peaceful sleep — his venerable white locks — 
Oh ! I cannot do it !'' 

The cheeks of Beatrice became of an ashy paleness, and she 
trembled with anger. Her eyes flashed witli fury, as her colour 
retm-ned, and the passions which shook her whole frame served 
but to give additional lustre to her beauty. 

" Coward !" she exclaimed witli bitterness, seizing Marzio by 
the arm : " thy valour lies only in words. Base murderer! thou 
hast sold thy soul to the devil, and yet thou lackest energy to 
fulfil thy hellish contract. Retiuii to that room, \ile slave, and do 
thy duty ; or, by the seven pains of our Ladv ! — '' and as she said 
this, she drew a dagger from under the folds of her dress, " thy 
dastardly soul shall go prematurely to its long account.'' 

The men sln-ank beneath the scowl of this girl. Completely 
abashed, they returned to their work of death, followed by 
Beatrice and Lucrezia. The Count had not been disturbed from 
his sleep. His head appeared above the coverlid ; it was surround- 
ed by flowing white hair, which, reflecting the moon-beams as 
tliey fell upon it through the large painted window, formed a 
silvery halo round liis brow. Marzio shuddered as he approach- 
ed the bed— fthe passage from sleep to eternity was brief.V- 

The crime being consummated, Beatrice herself paid the 
])romised reward, and presented ISIarzio with a cloak richly 
trimmed with gold lace. The murderers immediately left the 
castle through a ruined postern long out of use, and partly 
walled up. 

Beatrice and Lucrezia then returned to the murdered Count, 
and drawing the weapon from the wound—fur the old man had 



bp:atrice cenci. 73 

been deprived of life by means of a long and sharply pointed 
piece of iron, driven into the brain throngh the corner of the 
right eye — clothed the body in a dressing-gown, and dragging 
it to the fiu'ther end of the gallery, precipitated it from a 
window then under repair, the balcony of which had been 
taken down. Beneath, stood a huge mulberry- tree with strong 
and luxuriant branches, which so dreadfully mutilated the corpse 
in its fall, that when found in the morning, it presented every 
appearance of accidental death. It, is probable that no suspicion 
would ever have been excited, had not Beatrice, with strict in- 
junctions to secrecy, given the blood-stained sheets and coverlid 
to a woman of the village for the purpose of being washed. 

Rocca-di-Petrella being situated in the Neapolitan territory, 
the Court of Naples received the first intimation of the sus- 
pected crime. An inquiry was immediately set on foot ; but, 
notwithstanding every search, the deposition of the woman who 
had washed the bed-clothes, was the only evidence that could be 
obtained. 

Meantime, Giacomo had assumed the title of Count Cenci ; 
and his step-mother and sister, accompanied by Bernardino — for 
the youngest boy had died soon after the murder — had quitted 
Rocca-di-Petrella, and taken up their abode at the Cenci palace, 
there to enjoy the few peaceful months which Providence allowed 
to intervene betwixt the crime and its punishment. Here they 
received the first intelligence of the inquiry instituted by the 
Neapolitan Government ; and they trembled at the thought of 
being betrayed by their accomplices. 

Monsignore Guerra, equally interested in the concealment of 
the crime, resolved to make sure of the discretion of Marzio and 
Olimpio, and hired a bravo to despatch them. Olimpio was 
accordingly murdered near Turin ; but Marzio, being arrested at 
Naples for a fresh crime, declared himself guilty of Count Cenci's 
death, and related every particular. This new evidence being 
, instantly forwarded to the papal government, by that of Naples, 
Beatrice and Lucrezia Avere put under arrest in the Cenci pa- 



74 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEX. 

lace, and Giacomo and BemarLlino imprisoned at Corte-Savella. 
Marzio was soon after brought to Rome and confronted with the 
members of the Cenci family. (But when he beheld that Bea- 
trice, whom he so fondly loved, standing before him as a pri-, 
goner — her fate hano-ing upon the words he should utter — he 
retracted his confession, and boldly declared that his fonner 
statement at Naples was totally false. He was put to the most 
cruel torture ; but lie persisted in his denial, and expired upon 
the rack^^ 

The Cenci now seemed absolved from the accusation. But 
the murderer of Olimpio being arrested, as ^larzio had been, 
for a different offence, voluntarily accused hunself of this murder, 
which he had perpetrated, he said, in obedience to the com- 
mands of Monsignore Guerra. As Olimpio had also made 
some disclosiu'es before he died, the confession of his assassin 
was considered so conclusive, that the whole of the prisoners 
were conveyed to the castle of St. Angelo, Guen-a. seriously 
alarmed at the declaration of the bravo, fled from Rome in dis- 
guise, and, after encountering many perils, succeeded in leav- 
ing Italy. His flight was a confirmation of the evidence, and 
proceedings against the Cenci family were inmiediately com- 
menced. 

^Cruninal process in those days, as in the two succeeding cen- 
tm-ies. was the mere application of physical tortm-e to extort an 
avowal of the crime imputed : for the law had humandy pro- 
vided that no criminal could be convicted but upon his own con- 
fession. The rack was therefore termed the question ; and was, 
in fact, the only form of inteiTogatory. Thus, if an accused 
was innocent, and had energy of soul to brave the torture, he 
must bear it till he died ; but if natiu-e was subdued by pain, 
he accused himself falsely, and was put to death on the scaffold. 
Such was tjie justice administered by men calling themselves 
Christian prelates ! 

The question was applied to the Cenci. Lucrezia. Giacomo, 
and Bernardino, uixable to bear the ao-onv. made a full confes- 



BEATRICE CENCI. 75 

sion ; but Beatrice strenuously persisted in a denial of the 
murder, ftler beautiful limbs were torn by the instruments of 
torture ; but by her eloquence and address she completely 
foiled the tribunal. ), The judges were greatly embarrassed : they 
dared not pronounce judgment, and their president, Ulisse 
Moscatino, reported the state of the proceedings to the Pope, 
then Clement VIII. 

The PontiiF, fearing that Moscatino had been touched by 
the extreme beauty of Beatrice, appointed a new president, and 
the question was again applied. iThe unhappy girl bore the most 
intense agony without flinching ; nothing could be elicited from 
her but a denial of the crime with which she was charged. At 
length the judges ordered her hair to be cut off. This last indig- 
nity broke her spirit, and her resolution gave way. She now de- 
clared that she was ready to confess, but only in the presence of 
her family. (Lucrezia and Giacomo were immediately intro- 
duced ; and when they saw her stretched upon the rack, pale 
and exhausted, her delicate limbs mangled and bleeding, they 
threw themselves beside her, and wept bitterly. 

" Dear sister I" said Giacomo, " we committed the crime, 
and have confessed it. There is now no fiu'ther use in your 
allowing yourself to be so cruelly tortured." 

"It is not of sufferings such as these, that we ought to com- 
plain,'' Beatrice replied, in a faint voice. " I felt much greater 
anguish on the day I first saw a foul stain cast upon our ancient 
and honourable house. As you must die, would it not have been 
better to have died under the most acute tortures, than to endure 
the disgrace of a public execution !" 

This idea threw her into strong convulsions. She soon 
however recovered, and thus resumed : " God's will be done ! 
It is your wish that I should confess ; well ! be it so."*' Then 
turning to the tribunal, " Read me," she said, " the confession 
of my family, and I will add what is necessary." 

She was now unbound, and the whole proceedings read to her. 
She, however, signed the confession without adding a word. 



76 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

The four prisoners were now conveyed to Corte-Savella, where 
a room had been prepared for their reception. Here they were 
allowed to dine together, and in the evening the two brothers 
were removed to the prison of Tardinova. 

The Pope condemned the Cenci to be dragged through the 
streets "of Rome by wild horses. This was a cruel sentence; 
more especially as it emanated from the head of the Catholic 
Church, and was quite arbitrary. The prelates and Roman 
nobility were struck with pity and indignation. A species of 
sophistry which did much more honour to their humanity than 
to their judgment, led them to urge in extenuation, nay, almost 
in justification of the crime, the provocation received, and the 
series of monstrous atrocities committed by the late Count 
Cenci. They made the most energetic remonstrances to the 
Pope, who, much against his will, granted a respite of three 
days and a hearing by counsel. 

The most celebrated advocates at Rome offered their services 
on this occasion, and Nicolo di Angeli, the most eloquent 
among them, pleaded the cause of the Cenci so powerfully, that 
Clement was roused to anger. 

" What !'' he exclaimed indignantly, " shall children murder 
their parent and a Christian advocate attempt to justify such a 
crime, before the head of the Church ?'' 

The counsel were intimidated ; but Farinacci, another advo- 
cate, rose and addi-essing the Pope, 

" Holy Father !" said he with firmness, " we come not 
hither to employ our talents in making so odious a crime ap- 
pear a virtue, but to defend the innocent, if it please your 
Holiness to give us a hearing."' 

The Pope made no reply, but listened to Farinacci with 
great patience, during four hours. He then dismissed the advo- 
cates, and withdrew withCaidinal Marcello,to reconsider the case. 

Doubtless, the pamcide can find no extenuation of his crime ; 
nevertheless the circumstances between Beatrice and her father 
were so monstrous, the latter was such a fiend upon earth, and 



BEATRICE CENCI. 77 

each of the prisoners had been so cruelly tortured by hmi, that 
the Pope determined to mitigate the severity of his sentence. 
He was about to commute it into imprisonment for life, when 
news reached Rome that the Princess Costanza di Santa-Croce 
had been murdered at Subiaco by her son, because she had re- 
fused to make a will in his favour. This event again roused 
Clement's severity, and on the 10th of September 1599, he 
directed Monsignore Taberna, governor of Rome, to resume 
proceedings against the Cenci, and let the law take its course. 

The whole family were to be publicly beheaded in three 
days. Farinacci again came forward and pleaded the cause of 
Bernardino, who had not been an accomplice or even privy to the 
crime, and succeeded in obtaining his pardon ; but on the horri- 
ble condition that he should attend the execution of the others. 

The day before the execution, at five o'clock in the afternoon, 
the ministers of justice arrived at Corte-Savella to read the sen- 
tence of the law to the wife and daughter of the murdered Count 
Cenci. Beatrice Avas in a sound sleep ; the judges surrounded 
her in silence, and the solemn voice of the segretario roused 
her from her last slumber in this world. 

The idea of a public exposure upon the scaffold thrcAV her 
into ah agony of grief; but her mind soon recovered its tone, 
and she calmly prepared for death. 

( She began by making her will, in which she directed that her 
body should be buried in the church of San-Pietro in Montorio. 
She bequeathed three hundred Roman crowns to the congrega- 
tion of the Sante-Piaghe, and her own dower as a marriage por- 
tion to fifty portionless girls. 

There is a strange serenity in this contemplation of conjugal 
life from the brink of the grave, especially by a young girl 
about to expiate, on the scaffold, the murder of her father. But 
the history of Beatrice Cenci is still involved in mystery, and it 
is therefore difficult to trace the workings of her mind. 

" Now,*" said she to Lucrezia, " let us prepare to meet death 
Avith decency.'" 



78 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

The fiital hour struck, and the nuns of the congregation of 
the Sette-Dolori came to conduct the prisoners to the place of 
deatli. They found Beatrice at prayers, but firm and resolute. 

Meanwhile, her two brothers had left Tardinova, escorted 
bv the congregation of Penitents. The celebrated picture of 
Piety, presented by ^lichael Angelo for the sole use of dying 
criminals, was borne before them. They were thus taken before 
a judge, who, after reading Giacomo's sentence to him, turned 
to Bernardino, 

" Signor Cenci,"" he said, " our most Holy Father grants you 
your life. Return thanks for his clemency. You are con- 
demned to proceed to the place of execution^ and witness the 
death of your family.'''' 

The moment the judge had done speaking, the Penitents 
struck up a hymn of thanksgiving, and withdrew the picture 
from before Bernardino, who was now placed in a separate cart, 
and the procession again moved forward. During the whole of 
the route, Giacomo was tortured with red-hot pincers. He 
bore the pain with marvellous fortitude, — not a sigh escaped him. 

They stopped at the gate of Corte-Savella to take Beatrice 
and Lucrezia, who came forth covered with their veils. That 
of Beatrice was of grey muslin, embroidered with silver. She 
wore a purple petticoat, white shoes, and a very high dress of 
grey silk, with wide sleeves, which she had made during the 
night. Both held a crucifix in one hand and a white pocket 
handkerchief in the other ; for though their arms were lightly 
bound with cords, their hands were perfectly free. Beatrice 
had just entered her twentieth year : never had she appeared 
more lovely. There was, in her suffering countenance, an ex- 
pression of resignation and fortitude, a calmness of religious 
hope, that drew tears from the spectators. She kept up her step- 
mother's courage as they proceeded, and whenever they passed 
a church or a Madonna, she prayed aloud with great fervency. 

On reaching the Ponte St. Angelo, near which the scaffold 
was erected, the prisoners were placed in a small temporary 



BEATRICE CENCI. 79 

cliapel prepared for tliem, where tliey spent a short time in 
prayer. Giacomo, though the last executed, was the first to 
ascend the scaffold, and Bernardino was placed by his side. 
The unhappy youth fainted, and was firmly bound to a chair. 
Beatrice and Lucrezia were then led forth from the chapel. An 
immense concourse of people had assembled, and each bosom 
throbbed with painful interest. 

At this moment three guns were fired from the castle of 
St. Angelo. It was a signal to inform the Pope that the 
prisoners were ready for execution. On hearing it, Clement 
became agitated, and wept ; then falling on his knees, he gave 
the Cenci full absolution, which was communicated to them in 
his name. The assembled spectators knelt, and prayed aloud ; 
and thousands of hands were lifted up in deprecation of God's 
wrath upon the blood-stained criminals about to appear before 
his eternal throne. 

Lucrezia was the first led forward for execution. The minis- 
ter of the law stripped her to the waist. The unfortunate 
woman trembled excessively ; not indeed from fear, but from 
the gross violation of decency, in thus exposing her to the gaze 
of the multitude. 

" Great God !" she cried, " spare me this. Oh ! mercy, 
mercy V^ 

The particulars of Lucrezia's execution are disgusting and 
horrible ; for the sake of human nature, such atrocities should 
be buried in eternal silence. When her head fell, it made three 
bounds, as if appealing against such cruelty. The boj'a, after 
holding it up to the terrified spectators, covered it with a silk veil, 
and placed it in the coffin with her body. He then reset the axe 
for Beatrice, who was on her knees in fervent prayer. Having 
prepared the instrument of death, he rudely seized her arm, with 
hands besmeared with the blood of her step-mother. She in- 
stantly arose, and said, in a firm and strongly accentuated voice : — 

'' O my divine Saviour, who didst die upon the cross for me 
and for all mankind ; grant, I beseech thee, that one drop of 



80 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

thy precious blood may insure my salvation, and that, guilty as I 
am, thou wilt admit me into tliy heavenly paradise.'' 

Then presenting her arms for the hoja to bind them : 

" Thou art about,"" she said, " to bind my body for its 
punishment, mayest thou likewise unbind my soul for its eter- 
nal salvation !"" 

She walked to the block with a firm step, and, as she knelt, 
took every precaution that female delicacy could suggest ; then 
calmlv laying down her head, it was scA^ered by a single 
stroke. 

Bernardino was two years younger than his sister Beatrice, 
whom he tenderly loved. When he saw her head roll upon the 
scaffold, he again fainted. But cruelty is ever active ; and he 
w^as recalled to life, that he might witness the death of his 
brother. 

Giacomo was covered with a mourning cloak. Upon its 
removal, a cry of horror issued from the spectators, at the 
sight of his mangled and bleeding body. He approached 
Bernardino — 

" Dear brother,'" said he, " if, on the rack, I said any thing 
to criminate you, it was drawn from me by the intense agony I 
endured ; and, although I have already contradicted it, I here 
solemnly declare that you are entirely innocent, and that your 
being brouoi'ht hither to witness our execution, is a wanton and 
atrocious piece of cruelty. Pardon me, my brother, and pray 
for us all." 

He then knelt upon the scaffold, and began to pray. The 
hoja placed a bandage over his eyes, and struck him a violent 
blow across the right temple, with a bar of iron. He fell with- 
out a groan, and his body was torn into four parts. 

The congregation of the Sante-Piaghe conveyed Bernardino 
back to his prison, where, during four days, he remained in 
dreadful convulsions ; and for a long time after, not only w^as 
his reason despaired of, but his life. The bodies of Beatrice 
and Lucrezia, together with the severed quarters of Giacomo, 



BEATRICE CENCI. 81 

were exposed till tlie evening, at the foot of St. PauFs statue, 
on the Ponte St. Angelo. The congregations then took 
them away. The body of Beatrice was received by venerable 
matrons, who, after washing and perfuming it, clothed it in 
white, and surrounded it with flowers, consecrated candles, and 
vases of incense. It was ultimately placed in a magnificent 
coffin, conveyed to the church of San-Pietro in Montorio, by 
the light of more than five hundred torches, and there buried, 
at the foot of the great altar, close under the celebrated 
Transfiguration by Raphael. 

Bernardino was the only survivor of this unhappy family, 
and the last male heir of his race. He married a Bologuetti, 
and left an only daughter, who changed the name of the 
Cenci palace ; and from this marriage, the building came 
into the possession of the Bologuetti family, to whom it still 
belongs. 



' It is upon this deplorable history that Shelley founded his tragedy of 
The Cenci."— Ed. 



S-2 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWXA. 

EMPRESS OE RX'SSIA, 

On the morning of the 2Uth of Augrist 1702. the Russian 
cannon began to batter in breach the old ramparts of Marien- 
bursr. Sheremetoff commanded the besieging ai-mv. He had 
been sent bv Peter the Great to avenge the humiliations in- 
flicted upon the Russians, during the preceding vear, at Narva 
and in Poland ; and about a month before the period at ^hich 
this narrative commences, he had defeated the Swedish army 
under the command of Slippembach. Marienburg surrendered 
at discretion in a few hours, and the Russians, exasperated at 
the store-houses and magazines having been set on fire, put the 
Swedish garrison to the sword, and made the inhabitants pri- 
soners, — ^ lot much worse in those davs than death ; for it was 
a condition of slavery^ Among the captives, all of whom were 
casting a lingering look at the homes from which they were now 
driven, was a Lutheran minister, attended by three young girls. 
One of these was strikingly handsome. She had just been dis- 
covered by the Russian soldiers concealed in an oven, in which 
her fright had led her to seek refuge. The familv was brought 
before General Bauer, Sheremetoff's lieutenant, who was sur- 
prised at the beauty of the eldest girl. 

" Thy name ?" said he. in a harsh voice to the minister. 

" Gluck." 

" Thy religion .^" 

*• Lutheran.*' 

•• ^^ liy did thy daughter hide herself.' Thinkest thou that 
we refuse our protection to the weak and innocent ? " 

'• The young girl of whom you speak.*^ the trembling minister 
replied, '' is not a member of my family. I love her as my child ; 
but she is a stranger to mv blood." 







/ r/ //.J 



/ / 



■■I-,,,;/ /„,,/:i„//y ,''■ 1 7.,,, ■,■/>"/■ ;'u. //.y^r.. .r, chl^^l/l.r/ij,) 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 83 

" Oil ! oh !"" muttered the general with an expressive look. 
" Who is she then ?'' 

" The daughter of poor peasants, who dwelt in the neigh- 
bourhood of Derpt in Livonia. I took charge of her when her 
mother died, and have taught her the little T know. Her name 
is Martha Alfendey.'' 

" 'Tis well ! You may retire. As for you,'" said the 
general, addressing the young girl, " remain here.^"* 

Instead of obeying this command, she clung to the arm of 
her protector. 

" General," said the minister, " Martha was married this 
morning ; the ceremony had just been performed when the 
firing began." 

Bauer laughed, and repeated his order. Resistance was 
impossible. The pastor withdrew, and the poor girl remained 
with her future master ; for she was now a slave, and the slave 
too of a man who in a few years was to become her subject. 

This young female, as the reader may have already anticipated, 
was Catherine — a name she afterwards assumed, together with 
that of Alexiewna, when she embraced the tenets of the Greek 
church. In the present narrative, I shall give her no other. 

Catherine was eminently beautiful ; and there was an extreme 
fascination in her look and smile. After a short period of 
service, Bauer thought he might advance his owu interests by 
making a present of his fair slave to SheremetofF. He accord- 
ingly dressed her after the Russian fashion, and presented her to 
the marshal, with whom she remained some time. But Menzi- 
coff, then all powerful with the Czar, having seen her by chance, 
offered to purchase her; and SheremetofF, whether from indif- 
ference, or because he was desirous of making a merit of his com- 
pliance, sent her as a free offering to the prince. Thus, in less 
than two years, Catherine became the property of three different 
miasters. 

Menzicoff, one day, had to entertain the Czar. Peter loved 
to give such marks of his royal favour ; they cost him nothing, 

g2 



84 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOAIEN. 

and, in a country like Rus>ia. were higlily prized. Seated at a 
table loaded with a profusion of gold plate, sparkling crystal, 
and the finest linen of Holland and Saxony trhnmed with Brussels 
lace, the Czar was in that joyous mood to which he sometimes 
yielded when the thorns of his diadem tore his brow, or the 
weight of his sceptre tii'edhis arm. He wore on that day a coat 
of very coarse cloth, cut after his own fashion ; for he affected 
a simplicity of attire yery much out of keeping with the oriental 
maoTiificence he was sometimes fond of displa^incf. His mirth was 
always boisterous ; and in the midst of a loud peal of laughter 
he suddenly stopped, replaced upon the table the chased goblet 
he held in his hand, and followed with his eyes a young, 
beautiful, and elegantly dressed female, who had just poiu-ed 
wine into his cup, smiling with respectful modesty as she per- 
formed the office. Peter thought he had neyer beheld so fasci- 
natinsr a creatm-e. 

" Who is that woman r" said he to the fayourite. 
" ^ly slaye, cbead lord," replied the trembling prince. 
" Thy slaye !"' cried Peter in a yoice of thunder ; then in a 
mild tone, almost in a whisper, he added : '• I will purchase 
thy slaye. AVhat is her price r'''' 

'• I shall consider myself most fortunate," Menzicoff replied. 
" if your Majesty will youchsafe to accept her."' 

The same day, Catherine was taken to a house in a remote 
part of Moscow. ]\Ienzicoff. who was really attached to her. was 
in hopes that the Czar would take but little notice of his new 
acquisition, and that his slaye would ultimately be sent back to 
liim ; but the fail- captiye had caught a glimpse of her futm-e 
greatness, and soon brought into play that energy of genius which 
altimately placed the imperial crown upon her head. The powers 
of licr mind, and her extraordinary talents, became known through- 
out Russia long before she appeared as the sayiour not only of 
the empire, but of the honour of Peter's throne. At first the 
Czar visited her only occasionally ; soon, however, not a day 
passed without his seeing her; and ultimately he took his minis- 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 85 

ters to her house, and transacted all the business of the state in 
her presence, frequently consulting her and taking her advice 
upon the most knotty difficulties. Her cheerfulness, her mild- 
ness of temper, and especially her energy of mind, so congenial 
with his own, filled up the void left in his heart by former 
disappointments. His first wife, Eudocia Lapoukin, had proved 
faithless, and he had repudiated her. He afterwards wished to 
wed the beautiful Anna Moens, who refused the preferred honour 
because she still considered him the husband of another. In 
his intercourse with Catherine, he therefore freely yielded to a 
deep and overwhelming passion, which seemed likely to com- 
pensate for former suflPerings. , It was not long before he con- 
tracted a secret marriage with his lovely slave ; and in the enjoy- 
ment of her affection his heart recovered its tone, and he was 
happy.\ 

In this almost unknown retreat, Catherine bore him two 
daughters : Anna, born in 1708, and Elizabeth, born in 1709. 
From this time, the power of the fair captive of Marienburg was 
acknowledged throughout the empire, and she found herself 
strong enough to show Russia that she was indeed its sovereign. 
She was aware that the Czarowitz Alexis, Peter's son by Eu- 
docia, hated her ; yet she never attempted to widen the breach 
between him and the Czar : she also knew that Eudocia was in- 
triguing against her, but she never thought of revenge ; for she 
had a soul worthy of her high destiny : a soul truly great, and 
standing out in such prominent relief as to throw many of her 
errors into the shade. 

Her power over the Czar was greatly strengthened by her 
having become necessary to his existence. From his infancy, 
Peter had been subject to convulsions which often endangered 
his life : this complaint was attributed to the effects of poison 
administered by an ambitious sister. During these attacks, 
his sufferings were intense ; and- before and after they came 
on, he was seized with a mental uneasiness and throbbing of 
the heart, which threw him into a state of the most gloomy 



86 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

despondency. Catherine found means, by her attentions, to 
assuage his sufferings ; she had also magic words at command 
to soothe his mind : — whenever, therefore, he found one of his 
attacks coming on, he sought the society of the sorceress, whose 
voice and look charmed away his pain ; and he ever found her 
kind . and affectionate, ready to minister to his comfort, and 
pour balm upon his anguish.'. 

Hitherto Catherine had appeared to Peter only as a fond and 
fascinating woman ; but the time was near at hand when he 
found that she had a soul of the most dauntless heroism. 

The battle of Pultawa had been fought, and Charles XIL 
defeated, abandoned, and almost unattended, was in rapid flight 
towards Turkey. The Swedish monarch had left Saxony at the 
head of forty-five thousand men, and was afterwards joined by 
the Livonian army under Lewenhaupt, amounting to sixteen 
thousand more. But the Russians Avere superior in num- 
bers. The slaughter on this memorable day was dreadful. The 
Swedes seemed panic-struck : they lost nine thousand killed, and 
sixteen thousand prisoners. Lewenhaupt, with fourteen thou- 
sand men. laid- doAvn his arms to ten thousand Russians. 

(Peter followed up his victory ; but, like a great and generous 
monarch, wrote to Charles XII. entreating him not to go to 
Turkey in search of assistance from the enemies of Christianity, 
but to trust to him, and he would prove a good brother. This 
letter, it is said, concluding with an offer of peace, was dic- 
tated by Catherine. But it was despatched too late — Charles 
had already crossed the Dnieper. 

The Czar soon seized upon the advantages which this success 
of his arms placed at his disposal. He concluded a treaty with 
Prussia, laid siege to Riga, restored the kingdom of Poland to 
the Elector of Saxony, and ratified the treaty with Denmark. 
Having at length completed his measm-es for the further humili- 
ation of Sweden, he returned to ^Moscow, to make preparations 
for the triumphal entry of his army into that capital. 



CATHERINE ALEXIEVVNA. 87 

The year 1710 was opened with this solemnity. It was 
truly a noble sight, and calculated to give the Russian people 
an exalted idea of their strength as a nation. The greatest 
magnificence was displayed in the ceremony. Seven splendid 
triumphal arches were erected for the vanquished to pass under ; 
and as an act of presence^ and to prove the defeat not only 
of a rival monarch but of a whole nation, the Swedish artillery 
and standards, and the litter of the fugitive king, appeared 
in the procession. The Swedish ministers and troops who had 
been made prisoners, advanced on foot, followed by the most 
favoured troops of Peter''s army on horseback, the generals 
each according to his rank, and the Czar in his place as major- 
general. A deputation from the different bodies of the state was 
stationed at each triumphal arch, and at the last came a troop of 
young noblemen, the sons of the principal boyards, clad in Roman 
dresses, who presented crowns of laurel to the Emperor. 

" You are truly a great and powerful sovereign," said Cathe- 
rine, when the ceremony was over. " I have only one regret, 
that of not having been by your side.'^ 

" You should have come in a litter,"" Peter replied ; " for you 
surely could not have followed me on horseback." 
Catherine smiled. 

" Ask SheremetofF and MenzicofF," said she, " whether or 
not I can manage a horse, and they will tell you that I can ride 
as well as any of your officers.'*'* 

The Emperor*'s brow contracted, his features became con- 
vulsed, and his eyes shot a glance of ferocious and malignant 
anger that made Catherine shudder. He sprang towards her, 
and squeezing her left wrist with extreme violence, 

'; Never pronounce," said he with vehemence, " the names of 
those two men." 

He then rushed out of the room like a madman. Catherine 
saw that he was in a delirium of jealousy, and trembled as she 
thought of the fate of KlebofF.^ It was a warning presenti- 



88 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

ment of what she should herself some day have to endure from 
Peter's jealousy. 

At this period, war was extending its miseries throughout 
Europe. Denmark was preparing to invade Sweden ; whilst 
France, Holland, Italy, Portugal, Germany, and England, had 
drawn the sword to contend for the inheritance of Charles II. of 
Spain. The whole of the North was in arms against Charles 
XII. Nothing now remained, but a war with Tm-key, to in- 
volve every province in Europe in strife and bloodshed ; and 
this soon occurred. 

Peter's glory was at its zenith when Achmet III. commenced 
hostilities against him. Charles flattered himself that the Sultan 
had decided upon this course to avenge the defeat of the Swedes ; 
but Achmet was actuated solely by his own interest. 

The Czar lost no time in taking his measures : having des- 
patched Appraxin to Asoph to take the command of the fleet and 
land forces, he constituted a senate of regency, made an appeal 
to the loyalty of the young nobles of Russia, and sent forward 
the four regiments of his guards. When all was ready, he issued 
a proclamation, calling upon the Russian nation to acknowledge 
a new Czarina. This was no other than Catherine, the orphan 
brought up by the Lutheran minister, and the captive of Marien- 
burg. He now declared his marriage, and designated her as 
his consort. She set out with the Czar on his expedition 
against the Turks, and, being constantly near his person, re- 
doubled her soothing attentions on the march, during which 
Peter had several severe returns of his complaint. He was soon 
in the presence of Baltagi-Mohammed, having advanced by the 
frontiers of Poland, and crossed the Dnieper in order to disen- 
gage Sheremetoff. On reaching the river, he intreated Catherine 
not to follow him to the opposite bank. 

" Our two destinies form but one life," she replied. " Where 
you are, there must I be also.'' 

-^ Ever pleasing, good-humoured, and affable, she became the 
delight and pride of the soldiers. She seldom used her carriage, 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 89 

but was generally on horseback by Peter's side ; and she endured 
the same privations as the lowest officer in the army. Though 
frequently overcome with fatigue, her attentions and kindness 
to the sick officers and men were unremitting. She sent them 
assistance, paid them visits, and then returned to the Czar, dis- 
sipating by her smiles the clouds that gathered on his brow as his 
danger became greater and more imminent. In this way they 
reached the banks of the Pruth. 

The situation of the Russian army at length became so 
critical as to call forth all the resources of Peter's skill and energy. 
His communications with General Renne were cut off, and his 
provisions exhausted. Prodigious swarms of locusts alighted and 
destroyed all traces of vegetation ; and water was so scarce that 
none could be obtained, except by drawing it from the river 
under a heavy fire from the Turkish artillery. 

Peter, in despair at finding himself in a situation even worse 
perhaps than that to which he had reduced Charles XII. at 
Pultawa, determined upon a retreat. But Baltagi-Mohammed 
having come up with him, Peter's regiment of the Preobasinski 
guards sustained the attack of the whole Turkish army, which 
lasted for several hours. Night came on, and the Russians, over- 
come with fatigue, were unable to continue their retreat. 

Two Swedish generals were employed in the grand- vizier's 
army : Count Poniatowski, father of him who was afterwards 
king of Poland, and the Count of Sparre. The former advised 
that Peter's supplies should be cut off, and the Russian army 
be thus compelled to surrender or die of starvation ; the latter 
urged an immediate attack upon the Czar's discouraged troops, 
who might easily be cut to pieces. 

On the following day, the Russians were surrounded on all 
sides. The hostile armies were engaged several hours, during 
which eight thousand Russians withstood the attack of a 
hundred and fifty thousand Turks, killing seven thousand of 
them, and ultimately forcing them back.^ The armies then 
intrenched themselves for the night. The Russians suffered 



90 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

dreadfiillv for want of water ; the men who ^vere sent to fetch it, 
fell dead upon the banks of the river under the grape-shot of the 
Turkish artillery. Meantime, Peter was striding with hurried 
steps within the space which his soldiers had intrenched with 
all the waggons they could muster. Discouragement w^as but 
too evident upon every brow, and the Czar clearly perceived that 
the noble army of wdiich he was so prou.d, and upon which his 
fortunes now depended, had no other prospect than starvation or 
slavery. 

He returned to his tent in an agony of grief difficult to de- 
scribe, and gave orders that no one should be allowed to enter. 
His reason was all but gone; for he was at this moment under 
one of those attacks to which he was subject whenever his mind 
w^as greatly excited. Seated at a table upon which he had laid his 
sword, he seemed overcome by the weight of his misfortunes. 
On a sudden he started — he had heard his name called : — a 
gentle hand pressed his — Catherine stood by his side. 

" I had given orders that nobody should enter,"" said Peter 
angrily ; " why have you presumed to disobey them ?'''' 

" Such orders cannot surely extend to me,"' replied Catherine 
with mildness. " Can you deprive the woman, w^ho ever since 
the opening of the campaign has shared all your dangers, of the 
right to talk to you about your army, composed of your subjects, 
of which she is one ?"" 

The words uttered with solemnity, and in that sotto voce which 
woman alone can assume, made a strong impression upon the 
Czar. He threw his arms round Catherine, and placing his head 
upon her bosom, moaned piteously. 

" Why, Catherine, hast thou come hither to see me die ? for 
to die I am resolved ; I wdll never submit to be dragged along 
in triumph by those unbelievers/" 

" Thou hast no right to die, Peter,"" said Catherine in the 
same mild and solemn tone, though her heart throbbed violently, 
and she had great difficulty to restrain her tears ; " thy life is 
not thine own. Wouldst thou, moreover, leave the road to 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 91 

Moscow open, so that Mohammed may proceed thither and take 
thy daughters to grace his master's harem ?"" 

" Great God !'' exclaimed the Czar, starting back. 

" Or wouldst thou let him go to Petersburgh, thy well-beloved 
city, and himself execute that which he requires of thee ?" 

" No !'"* said Peter, seizing his sword ; " he shall not go 
thither — I am still alive to prevent it/'' 

,M' Thou art beside thyself, Peter,'' Catherine continued, " thou 
knowest not what thou dost. I am but a woman — a simple 
ignorant woman — but I love thee, not only because thou hast 
raised me from the lowly state of a peasant and a slave to 
the dignity of thy consort, but for thine own glory. I also 
love the Russian people, and am resolved to save you both. 
Hear me !" 

Subjugated by Catherine's manner and the greatness of soul 
Avhich beamed from her countenance, the Czar gazed upon her 
in astonishment. Already calmed by her words of mingled 
tenderness and energy, he placed her by his side and prepared 
to listen to her. She immediately began, and with great pre- 
cision and clearness developed the plan she had formed ever 
since the critical situation of the army had led her to suppose 
that every ordinary resource would fail. Peter assented to all 
she proposed, and Catherine lost not an instant in carrying her 
project into execution. She collected together the few jewels she 
had brought with her on an expedition free from all unnecessary 
splendour of attire, and selected an officer, upon whose talents and 
presence of mind she could depend, to carry them as a present to 
the Grand- vizier; she likewise added, for the Kiaja, all the ready 
money she could collect. These preparations being made, she 
sent for Sheremetoff, and made him write a letter to Baltagi- 
Mohammed. Norberg, chaplain to Charles XII, has stated, in 
his history of that monarch, that the letter was written by the 
Czar himself, and couched in the most abject terms. This is 
untrue ; it was written by SheremetoiF in his own name, and not 
only with becoming dignity, but each expression was so measured 



92 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

as to prevent the grand-vizier from forming a suspicion of the 
extreme state to which the Russian army was reduced. Shere- 
metofF wrote under the dictation of Catherine, herself unable to 
write, but whose instinctive genius — the real fountain of science — 
rendered her as superior in counsel, as she was in energy of mind. 

For some hours Mohammed made no reply, and the Turkish 
artillery continued to scatter its missiles along the banks of the 
river. As the sun sank towards the horizon, the anxiety in the 
Russian camp became intense. Catherine, ever active, was almost 
at the same time soothing and encouraging Peter and scattering 
her magic words of heroism among the officers and men of his 
army. She seemed everywhere at once, and all were animated 
by her presence. She pointed out to the troops their sovereign, 
as he passed along, sorrowing at their sorrow, and unhappy at their 
misfortunes ; she urged them to assuage his grief, by showing him 
that their courage remained unshaken. Her words were electri- 
cal : the ministers and generals soon surrounded Peter, and, in 
the name of the whole army, demanded to cross the Pruth im- 
mediately. Ten of the oldest generals held a council of war, at 
which Catherine presided, and the following resolution, proposed 
by her, was signed and presented to the Czar. 

" Should the enemy refuse the conditions proposed by Marshal 
SheremetofF, and dare to call upon us to lay down our arms, it is 
the unanimous opinion of the army, its generals, and the imperial 
ministers of state, that we should cut our way through them." 

In consequence of this resolution, the baggage was surrounded 
by an intrenchment, and the Russians had already advanced with- 
in a liundred yards of the Turkish army, when the grand- vizier 
published a suspension of arms. Vice-Chancellor SchaffirofF was 
immediately despatched to the Turkish camp, negotiations were 
begun, and the honour of the Russian arms remained without a 
blemish. A treaty of peace was soon after concluded at Falksen, 
a village on the banks of the Pruth. A disagreement about a 
clause of the treaty led to an answer from Peter which may efface 
many blood-stained lines in his history. 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 93 

Prince Cantemir, a subject of tlie Ottoman Porte, was under 
the protection of Russia, and Mohammed insisted upon his being 
given up. In reply to Schaffiroff, Peter wrote as follows : 
^^— ~" I would rather give up to the Turks all the country as far 
as Curzka, because I should have hopes of being able to recover 
it ; but the loss of my faith would be irretrievable. We sove- 
reigns have nothing we can properly call our own, except our 
honour, and were I to forfeit that, I should cease to be a king.*" 
Cantemir was therefore not given up. 

Just as the treaty was ready for signature, Charles XII. arrived 
at the Turkish camp, and vented bitter reproaches on Mohammed, 
who treated him with the most cutting indifference. 

" If I had taken the Czar prisoner,'' said the viceroy of Stam- 
boul with a smile of bitter irony, " who would there be to govern 
in his stead ? It is not right that every sovereign should quit his 
dominions.'"' 

Charles, forgetful of the dignity not only of the monarch but 
the man, tore the vizier's robe with his spurs, which Mohammed, 
in his superiority over the royal adventurer, feigned not to per- 
ceive. He left it to Providence to inflict its will upon Charles's 
brilliant and tumultuous life, and to complete that lesson of ad- 
versity which had begun at Pultawa, where the Swedish king was 
vanquished by Menzicoff, originally a pastry-cook's boy, and 
continued on the banks of the Pruth, where Baltagi- Mohammed, 
once a slave and a hewer of wood, decided on the fate of three 
empires. . 

Subsequently, the revenge of the man of the seraglio was more 
characteristic. He withdrew the pension which the Porte allowed 
its royal guest, and gave him orders, couched in the form of 
advice, to quit the Turkish empire. This led to the well-known 
affair at Bender. 

Charles XII. has accused the grand- vizier of incapacity. This 
is an error grafted on the prejudice of hatred ; for Mohammed 
was a man of high talents, and to every reflecting mind the sound 
policy of his conduct on this occasion is evident. All the writers 



94 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

of tlie Swedish party accuse liim of having received a bribe to 
betray his trust. This is equally absurd ; the jewels sent him 
by Catherine were a mere compliance with an eastern custom, 
which requires that a present should always precede the demand 
of an audience, and were not of sufficient value to tempt him to 
become a traitor, even w^ere he so disposed. The charge is as 
devoid of foundation as that, in 1805, General Mack received a 
large sum for his surrender at Ulm. A minister of state or an 
eminent general has the eyes of the w^hole world fixed upon him, 
and, if he descend to such acts of baseness, they are sure to be 
discovered. When, therefore, no positive evidence is adduced, 
such imputations ought to be disregarded. In the present case, 
the charge is impossible ; for Peter had no means of raising a 
sum adequate to tempt the cupidity of the grand- vizier. 

Peace being concluded, the Czar retu-ed by Jassy, and prepared 
for the execution of the treaty. Peter's life was now less agitated, 
but his complaint returned so frequently, and with such aggra- 
vated symptoms, that he began to think his life was drawing to a 
close. Then it was that the Czarina seemed to him as a consol- 
ing angel. A secret melancholy preyed upon his mind, occa- 
sioned by the check his ambition had received, and made dreadful 
ravages upon his health : he therefore set out for Carlsbad, ac- 
companied by Catherine, who now never quitted him. On his 
return, the marriage took place between the Czarowitz Alexis and 
the Princess of Wolfenbuttel. The nuptial ceremony was per- 
formed at Torgau, on the 9th of January 1712. 

Catherine has been accused of exciting Peter's hatred towards 
his son — an odious imputation, wdiich nothing appears to justify. 
The Prince Alexis Petrowitz had always been an object of dislike 
to his father, and this feeling was greatly aggTavated by the 
prince's own conduct. The time of these scenes has long been 
past, and we may now dispassionately weigh the conduct of both 
father and son. But it is cruelly unjust to impute these dissen- 
sions to the Czarina without a single fact to substantiate the 
charge. Catherine was not at Torgau Avhen the prince's marriage 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 95 

took place, but at Thorn in Polish Prussia. An excuse had been 
made to prevent her from being present at the ceremony, but it 
was in no wise connected with her feelings as a step-mother. 
Though Czarina of Russia, she had, nevertheless, at that period 
not been formally acknowledged, and had only the title of high- 
ness, which rendered her rank too equivocal for her name to 
appear in the marriage contract, or for the rigidity of German 
etiquette to assign her a place in the ceremony suitable to the wife 
of the Czar. On the conclusion of the marriage, Peter sent the 
young couple to Wolfenbuttel, and proceeded to Thorn to fetch 
Catherine, whom he conducted to Petersburgh with the despatch 
and simplicity that always characterized his mode of travelling. 

Some weeks after, and without Catherine having manifested 
the slightest wish on the subject, Peter again formally declared 
his marriage, and on the 19th of February 1712 she was regularly 
proclaimed Czarina. Though in consequence of the disasters of the 
late war, the ceremony on this occasion was less magnificent than 
it would otherwise have been, it bore nevertheless a character of 
splendour which no other monarch than Peter could have imparted 
to it, especially at that period. This was the philosophy displayed 
by the chief of a great empire, who, at the very time he had 
obtained a princely alliance for the heir to his throne — for that 
Czarowitz whose birth was the only advantage he possessed — 
placed as his own consort upon that throne an obscure female, 
a slave captured during the sacking of a town, but in whom he 
had found a noble mind and a generous heart. There is in this 
action a real respect for high genius — there is, moreover, a grateful 
sense of kind and useful services which does the greatest honour 
to the human heart. 

A short time after this event, an incident occurred which has 
never been satisfactorily cleared up. Catherine had often declared 
that she was the only child of her parents ; but an individual 
claiming to be her brother now made his appearance. The 
story of a man meeting a Livonian named Scravowski in a tavern 
at Riga, and recognizing him as the brother of the Czarina from 



96 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

liis strong resemblance to her, is contemptible. Nevertheless it 
obtained credit, and Prince Repnin received directions to send 
this pretended brother to Petersburgh. 

Had Scravowski been only a rude Livonian peasant, his rela- 
tionship to Catherine might have been less doubtful ; but he was 
a noble, and had never set up such a pretension until the Czarina 
was acknowledged. This is a great drawback upon his fraternal 
feelings, and shows his motive in claiming kindred with the pow- 
erful consort of the Czar. Peter behaved, throughout the business, 
in a noble, straight-forward manner, and seemed really to believe 
that he had found a brother-in-law. 

" Catherine,^' said he, presenting Scravowski to her, " this is 
your brother. Come, Charles, kiss the hand of the Czarina, and 
embrace your sister."" 

The Czarina seemed ready to faint. 

" Wherefore this emotion, Catherine.'^"" said Peter. " The mat- 
ter is very simple : this man is your brother, and therefore my 
brother-in-law. If he has talent, we shall be able to make some- 
thing of him ; if he has none, why we can make nothing of him." 

Scravowski had no talent ; his intellect was below mediocrity. 
Peter created him a count, and he married a woman of quality, 
by whom he had two daughters. This is all that is known 
about him. 

Catherine again became pregnant, and in 1713 gave birth to 
another daughter. She had hoped for a son, as Peter made no 
secret of his wish to have one ; and the disappointment affected 
her so much that she became seriously ill. At length a fresh 
pregnancy was announced, on which occasion Peter instituted the 
order of St. Catherine, and celebrated the event by a triumphal 
entry. 

Of all the sights which Peter could give his subjects, this was 
the most pleasing to, them. On the present occasion, the officers 
of the Swedish navy whom the Czar had made prisoners, with 
Rear-admiral Erenschild at their head, were made to pass under 
a triumphal arch which Peter had himself designed, and do 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 97 

liomage to a half-savage named Romodanowski, upon whom the 
Czar, in one of his jovial fits, had conferred the mock-title of 
Czar of Moscow, treating him in public as if he were really master 
of that city, and ordering almost all his decrees to be followed. 
This man, the most rude and brutal of Russians, v/as Peter's 
court-fool, kept in imitation of the practice in the middle ages. 
Romodanowski had always a frightful bear by his side, which he 
had made his favourite, as he was himself the favourite of his 
imperial master. 

The Czarina was at length delivered of a son. But the 
Czar's pleasure at this event was embittered by the Czarowitz 
Alexis having also a son ; and this rekindled in his bosom those 
stormy passions often so dreadful even to the objects of his fondest 
affection. 

Catherine's confinement interrupted for a time her excursions 
with the Czar through his dominions, sometimes upon the lakes, 
and sometimes at sea even during violent storms ; but they 
were resumed on her recovery. Peter had visited every part of 
Europe, like a man anxious to acquire knowledge, and to study 
the manners of different nations. He now resolved to make a 
second tour, and study the manners of courts. Catherine ac- 
companied him to Copenhagen, Prussia, and several of the Ger- 
man principalities. At length Peter saw Amsterdam once more, 
and visited the cottage^ at Sardam in which he had long re- 
sided as a simple shipwright. He, however, reached the Dutch 
capital alone, the Czarina having remained at Schwerin, unwell, 
and far advanced in pregnancy. Some hours after he had left 
her, she was informed that, during his residence at Sardam, he 
had passionately loved a young girl of that place. In alarm 
at this information, she immediately left Schwerin to follow him, 
notwithstanding the intense cold ; it being then the month of 
January. On reaching Vesel, the pains of labour came on un- 
expectedly, and she was delivered of a male child, which died 
soon after. In less than twenty-four hours after, she resumed her 
journey, and on the tenth day arrived at Amsterdam. Peter at 



98 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

first received her with anger ; but moved by this proof of her 
affection, in which she had risked her life to follow him, he 
soon forgave her. They visited together the cottage at Sardam, 
which had been converted into an elegant and commodious little 
dwelling ; thence they proceeded to the house of a rich ship- 
builder named Kalf,'^ where they dined. Kalf was the first 
foreigner Avho had traded with Petersburg, and had thereby won 
the Czar''s gratitude. Catherine took great notice of this family, 
because she knew that Peter was pleased at the attentions she 
bestowed upon foreigners of talent in general, and especially upon 
Kalf, to whom he considered himself so greatly indebted. 

The Czar remained three months in Holland, where he was 
detained by matters of great moment. The European con- 
spiracy of Goetz and Alberoni, in favour of the Stuarts, had 
abeady extended its ramifications far and wide, and Peter deem- 
ed it necessary to go to Paris in order to see more clearly into the 
plot. But a too rigorous etiquette would have been required for 
the Czarina, at the French court ; and being apprehensive of 
the trifling and sarcastic wit of the French courtiers, he was 
unwilling to expose his consort to that which the Livonian peasant 
and the slave of MenzicofF might have been forced to endure. 
Catherine therefore remained in Holland during his absence. 
On his return, he listened very attentivelv to her remarks on the 
plan of Goetz and Alberoni, and it vms by her advice that he 
kept in such perfect measure with all the conspirators, leaving 
them to place their batteries, and reserving to himself the power 
of either using or rendering them nugatory, as it might suit 
his purpose. 

Catherine, at this period, was only thirty-three years of age, 
and as beautiful as on the day when Peter first beheld her. The 
strong feeling then inspired by the young and artless gii-1, had 
ripened into a sentiment of deep affection identic with his ex- 
istence ; it had become a passion which, in a man like Peter 
the Great, was necessarily exclusive and suspicious. In him, jea- 
lousy was like a raging fiend — its effects were appalling. But I 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 99 

must not anticipate. — He continued to travel with Catlierine by 
his side, happy at seeing her share his fatigues not only without 
repining, but with the same smile upon her lips, the same sparkle 
in her eye. Yet the life they both led was as simple, and as full 
of privations, as that of Charles XII. or the King of Prussia. 
(The train of a German bishop was more magnificent than that 
of the sovereigns of Russia. . During this journey to Holland, 
Catherine, to avoid a short separation from the Czar, made 
an excursion with him which lasted ten days, during which she 
had not a single female attendant. It was by such attentions 
that she secm-ed her power over Peter^s heart. 

The Czar had originally intended to prolong his journey, 
and proceed to Vienna, whither he had been invited by the 
Emperor of Austria, his son^s brother-in-law. But important 
news from Russia induced him to alter his intention, and return 
in, all haste to Petersburg, where the noble qualities of a great 
monarch were soon to disappear, and leave in their room nothing 
but the ferocity of a savage and blood-thirsty Scythian. 

His son, he said, was conspiring against him. But the un- 
happy prince was a mxCre tool in the hands of the monks, and of 
the old disaffected boyards who had resisted Peter's measures 
for the civilization of his country. 

Eudocia Theodorowna Lapaukin, Peter's first wife, had been 
educated in the prejudices and superstitions of her age and 
country. Unable to comprehend the great designs of the Czar, 
she had always endeavoured to impede them. Her son had . 
been allowed constantly to visit her in her retirement, and had 
imbibed from her the same feelings against his father's innova- 
tions. He considered them sacrilegious and abominable, and was 
led to suppose that his opinions were shared by the whole nation. 
Thus was the bitterest animosity excited between the Czar and 
his son, and attended with those lamentable effects which always 
ensue when the bonds of nature . are burst asunder by hatred. 
This feeling, when it exists between a parent and his child, 
ought to have a separate name. 

h2 



100 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Tlie Czar's maniage with Catherine had completed the dis- 
aifection of the prince, who considered himself a victim destined 
to be sacrificed in order to leave the throne free for the children 
of this new marriage. Haunted b}^these feelings, and by a dread 
of his father's ultimate projects with regard to himself, he sought 
refuo-e in debauchery of the lowest and most debasing kind, to 
Avhich indeed he had always been addicted. His life was now 
most brutal and degrading. His marriage, far from reclaiming 
him, had rather increased his evil propensities. His wife died 
from ill-usage, aggravated by the want of even common necessa- 
ries, four years after their union, leaving him an only son. 

It was at this period that Peter began to be alarmed at 
the future prospects of Russia. If the nation, scarcely eman- 
cipated from its savage state, fell under the rule of his son, 
he foresaw the annihilation of all his plans of improvement, and 
that his successor would become the slave of those old boyards 
with long beards, who could not elevate their minds above the 
rude and barbarous customs of their ancestors. This induced 
him, before he set out for Germany, to write to the Czarowitz, 
offering him his choice of a change of conduct or a cloister. 

The Czar was in Denmark when he heard that his son had 
clandestinely left Russia, and he immediately returned to Mos- 
cow. Alexis, betrayed by his mistress, was arrested at Naples, 
and conducted back to Moscow. On appearing before his irri- 
tated parent, he trembled for his life, and tendered a voluntary 
• renunciation of his claims to the throne. 

It has been urged by some writers that the influence of a 
step-mother was but too apparent in the bitterness of Peter's 
feelings towards the Czarowitz. Catherine had a son just born ; 
she had also two daughters ; and it was but reasonable that she 
should entertain fears on their account, if Alexis succeeded to 
the throne. And was it natural, they ask, that a father should 
offer his first-born as a sacrifice to fears that might never be 
realized ? — that he should use the blood of his child as a cement 
to join the stones of his political edifice ? 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 101 

But Peter liad real grounds of apprehension for tlie safety 
of the establishments he had created, and was justified in sup- 
posing that the plans he might leave to be executed by his suc- 
cessor, would never be carried into execution. He had spent his 
life in emancipating his country from the lowest state of moral 
degradation, and he anticipated the glory to which his empire 
would rise after his death. He therefore discarded the feelings 
of the father to assume those of the stern legislator ; and 
perhaps he felt less difficulty in doing so from the brutalized 
condition of his son, whom he had never beheld with affection. 

On the 14th of February 1718, the great bell of Moscow 
vibrated its hollow death-knell through the city. The privy 
councillors and boyards were assembled in the Kremlin ; the 
archimandrites, the bishops, and the monks of St. Basil, in the 
cathedral. A vast multitude circulated, in silent consternation, 
through the city, and it went from mouth to mouth that the 
Czarowitz was about to be condemned on the accusation of his 
father. 

Alexis still clung to life, and, in the hope that he might yet 
be allowed to live, tendered a second renunciation of his claims 
to the throne, expressly in favour of Catherine's children. When 
he had signed it, he thought himself safe. How little did he 
know his stern father ! He was conducted to the cathedral, there 
again to hear the act of his exheredation read ; and when he had 
drained the cup of anguish prepared for him, it was filled again 
and again. But the debased heart of the wretched man would not 
break ; he was unable to feel the full weight of infamy heaped 
upon him. 

On his return, sentence of death was passed upon him, and 
he fell into dreadful convulsions, which terminated in apoplexy. 
Before he received the sacrament, he requested to see his father. 
Peter went to his bedside— unmoved at the groans of the son 
whom his word had stricken with death. For a time the 
symptoms became milder, but they soon after returned with 
greater violence, and in the evening the prince expired. 



102 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Catherine attended the funeral ; perhaps she did so in com- 
pliance Avith the Czar's wish, but it has been imputed to her as 
a sort of savage triumph over the remains of him who was now 
unable ever to come forward and say to her son, " Give me back 
my crown." 

Those anxious to divest her of all blame in this tragical event, 
pretend that she had intreated the Czar to shut up the prince in 
a monastery. But this defence is more injurious than useful ; 
as it shows that, at all events, she advised shutting out from the 
world him whom God had placed upon the steps of the throne 
before her son. On the other hand it is said, that Catherine, 
if she interfered at all, should have used her exertions, even to 
the braving of Peter's wrath, to prevent the condemnation of 
Alexis, for whose life she was more accountable than his own 
mother ; and that she, whose influence over the Czar was un- 
bounded, who could at all times awaken the kindliest emotions 
of his nature, must have succeeded, had she seriously made the 
attempt, in obtaining the prince's pardon. 

But this is mere hypothetical reasoning. \ Nobody either 
knew, or could know, what passed in private between the Czar 
and his consort, and it is but just to give Catherine the benefit 
of her conduct throughout her whole previous life, no one act of 
which can justify such an imputation. 

I have, however, seen a manuscript, in which it is positively 
asserted that Catherine was by no means guiltless of the death 
of Alexis ; and in support of this statement it is urged, that her 
power over the Czar was so great as to eradicate the hatred he 
had so long entertained towards Charles XII. Certain it is, 
that Peter followed her advice in most of his great political 
measures, and it was much more through her exertions, than 
those of Messrs. Goetz and Alberoni, that the famous treaty was 
concluded to restore the Stuarts to the throne of Endand. But 
is tliis alone sufficient to stamp her memory with so foul a stain ? 
— and was not the case of the Czarowitz one calculated to call 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 103 

fortli, with a violence which no influence could repress, all the 
savage ferocity of Peter's character ? 

Scarcely was the treaty concluded against the reigning family 
in England, ere a chance ball from a culverin killed Charles XI I. 
at Frederickshall. This event was soon succeeded by other 
disasters : the Spanish fleet was burned ; the conspiracy of Cel- 
lamarre was discovered in France ; Goetz was beheaded at Stock- 
holm, and Alberoni banished from Italy : and of this formidable 
league the Czar alone remained, having committed himself wdtli 
none of the conspirators, and yet being master of the whole. It 
was Catherine who had communicated with Goetz in Holland, 
because, though the Czar wished to avoid speaking to him, he was 
nevertheless anxious to treat. She it was who managed the whole 
business, and in truth she displayed wonderful address and 
diplomatic tact. Soon after the failure of the conspiracy, she 
again rendered the Czar a service almost as signal as that on the 
banks of the Pruth. On the death of Charles XII, the nego- 
tiations with Sweden were again broken off. Though the con- 
gress of Aland was not dissolved, the English and Swedish fleets 
had united, and hostilities were again threatened. The new 
Queen of Sweden, however, being desirous of peace, had the 
Czarina privately spoken to ; and Catherine communicated this 
to Peter, who, acting upon her advice, consented to the holding 
of a congress at Neustadt, in Finland, where peace was con- 
cluded on the 10th of September 1721. The exertions of 
Catherine contributed much more to bring about this event, than 
the united talents of the statesmen composing the congress. 

(J^^eter was overjoyed at this peace. He was now able to 
employ his numerous armies in cutting roads and canals through 
Russia, and in such other works as formed part of his plans for 
the improvement of his country. The triumphal entries which 
I have before mentioned, were nothing in comparison to the re- 
joicings which took place on this occasion. The prisons were 
thrown open, and all criminals pardoned, except those guilty of 



104 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

liigli treason, to whom the Czar could not consistently extend his 
clemency, after having condemned his son to death for the same 
crime. 

Russia now conferred upon Peter the titles of Father of his 
Country, Great, and Emperor. The Chancellor GolofFkin, at 
the head of the senate and the synod, and speaking in the name 
of all the bodies of the state, saluted him by these titles, in the 
great cathedral. On the same day, the ambassadors of France, 
Germany, England, Denmark, and Sweden, complimented him 
by the same titles. He was now acknowledged Emperor 
throughout Europe ; and strong among the strong, the pros- 
perity of his dominions doubled his power. 

"It is my wish,"" said he one day to the Archbishop of 
Novogorod, "to acknowledge by a striking public ceremony 
all the services which Catherine has rendered me. It is she 
who has maintained me in the place I now occupy. She is 
not only my tutelary angel, but that of the Russian empire. 
She shall be anointed and crowned Empress ; and as you are 
primate of Russia, you shall perform the ceremony of her 
consecration."" 

The archbishop bowed. He had long been anxious that Peter 
should revive the patriarchate, and this opportunity seemed to 
him too good to be lost. He, therefore, observed to the Emperor, 
that such a ceremony would derive additional splendour from 
being performed by the patriarch of Russia. 

" Sir," replied Peter with a frown, " had I required a patri- 
arch in my dominions, I should long since have appointed 
Jotoff,^ who would make a very good one. Catherine shall be 
crowned, and well crowned too — but without a patriarch."' 

The archbishop attempted to reply ; but Peter having lifted 
a stick which he always carried, the prelate was silent. 

On the 18th of May 1724, the ceremony of Catherine's 
coronation took place in the cathedral at Moscow. The declara- 
tion made by the Emperor on this occasion, after stating that 
several Christian princes, and among others Justinian, Leo the 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 105 

philosopher, and St. Heraclius, had crowned their wives in the 
same manner, contained the following words : 

"And being further desirous of acknowledging the eminent 
services she has rendered us, especially in our war with Turkey, 
when our army, reduced to twenty-two thousand men, had to 
contend with more than two hundred thousand, we crown and 
proclaim her Empress of Russia/' 

Peter, always simple in his dress, was pleased to see Cathe- 
rine follow his example ; but no man knew better how to use 
pomp and pageantry when the occasion required it. At this 
ceremony, Catherine appeared resplendent with gold and jewels, 
and her retinue was worthy of a great sovereign. One thing 
in it was remarkable. \The Emperor walked before her on 
joot, as captain of a company of new body-guards, which 
he had formed under the title of Knights of the Empress. 
When the procession reached the church, he stationed him- 
self by her side, and remained there during the whole cere- 
mony. He himself placed the crown upon her head. : She then 
attempted to embrace his knees; but he raised her before her 
knee had touched the ground, and embraced her tenderly. On 
their return, he ordered that the crown and sceptre should be 
borne before her. Catherine had reason to be proud of such a 
triumph of genius over the prejudices of society ; but she was 
not long to enjoy it, for a cruel reverse awaited her, and that 
reverse was brought on by her own folly. 

Catherine owed every thing to the Emperor, and the benefits 
he had conferred upon her, claimed a strength of gratitude never 
to be shaken. But an offence which she received, and the con- 
viction that the Emperor had become indifferent to her, made 
her for a moment lose sight of this feeling, and led to the 
deplorable events which I have still to relate?- 

-,,One day whilst the Empress was at her toilet, a vice-admiral, 
named Villebois, a Frenchman in the service of Russia, arrived 
with a message from the Emperor. Villebois was a man of low 
origin ; he had left his country to avoid the gallows, and the 



106 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

grossness of his habits was such as qualified him to be one of 
Peter's pot companions. He was completely intoxicated when he 
entered the Empress's apartment. This Catherine did not at 
first perceive ; but she made the discovery by receiving from 
Villebois one of the grossest insults that can be offered to a 
woman. She demanded vengeance of the Emperor for this af- 
front ; but Peter laughed at it, and merely condemned the 
offender to six months' labour at the galleys. ^^ — - 

(The seeming indifference which dictated this sentence, cut her 
to the soul. She imagined she had lost Peter's affection ; for 
it was the only way in which she could account for his not 
punishing more severely the man who had offended her. On 
other occasions he would inflict death for an indiscreet word, and 
here, he had treated with ridicule a gross outrage offered to his 
wife — to that Catherine whom he had once so fondly loved. 
This imfortunate idea having once taken possession of her* 
mind, daily gained strength. -^ 

Ever since her coronation, she had an establishment separate 
from that of the Emperor. Her lady of the bed-chamber, 
Madame de Balk, was that same beautiful Anna Moens to 
whom Peter had formerly been attached, and who had refused 
to become Czarina. She had first mamed the Prussian minister 
Kayserlingeu, and after his death, Lieutenant-Gen eral Balk. 
Peter had placed her in her present station, and had also ap- 
pointed her brother, Moens de la Croix, chamberlain to the 
empress. Moens was young, handsome, and highly accom- 
plished ; the admiration he at first felt for Catherine soon 
ripened into a warmer feeling, and unhappily he had but too 
frequent opportunities of seeing her in private. On the other 
hand, the mind of the Empress was ill at ease, and needed con- 
solation. This led to a most imprudent intimacy, which, if not 
connected with guilt in Catherine, was, to say the least of it, 
extremely improper. 

By the care of Madame de Balk it remained for a long time 
unperccivcd. But at length, Jagouchinsky, a contemptible ruf- 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 107 

fian, tlien a favourite of Peter's, and one of the companions of 
his orgies, had a suspicion of it, and determined to watch the 
Empress and her chamberlain. Having at length satisfied himself 
that his conjectures were not unfounded, he boldly declared to 
Peter that Catherine was faithless to his bed. On receiving this 
intimation, the Emperor roared like a raging lion. His first idea 
was to put her and her supposed paramour to death, and then 
stab the informer to the heart, as being acquainted with his 
shame. But, on reflection, he resolved to do nothing till he 
had obtained full evidence of the crime. He therefore feigned 
to quit Petersburgh, but only retired to his winter palace, whence 
he sent a confidential page to inform the Empress that he should 
be absent two days. 

At midnight he entered a secret gallery of Catherine's palace, 
of which he alone kept the key. Here he passed Madame de 
Balk unperceived, and entered a room where a page, who either 
did not know him or pretended not to knoAv him, attempted to 
stop his progress. Peter knocked him down, and entering the 
next apartment found the Empress in conversation with Moens. 
Having approached them, he made an attempt to speak, but the 
violence of his emotion choked his utterance. Casting at the 
chamberlain, and at his sister who had just entered the room, one 
of those withering glances which speak but too plainly, he turned 
towards Catherine, and struck her so violently with his cane that 
the blood gushed from her neck and shoulder. Then rushing 
out of the room, he ran like a madman to the house of Prince 
Kepnin, and burst violently into his bed-room. 

The Prince roused from his sleep, and seeing the Emperor 
standing by his bed-side frantic with rage, gave himself up 
for lost. 

" Get up,'' said Peter in a hoarse voice, " and fear nothing. 
Don't tremble, man — thou hast nothing to fear." 

Repnin rose and heard the Emperor's tale. Meantime, Peter 
was walking up and down the room, breaking every thing within 
liis reach. 



108 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" At day-break,'" said he, wlien lie had finished his tale, " I 
Avill have this ungrateful wanton beheaded." 

'' No, sir,'" replied Repnin with firmness, " you will give no such 
orders. You will take this matter into further consideration ; 
first, because you have been injured, and secondly, because you 
are the absolute master of your subjects. But why, sir, should the 
circumstance be di\Tilged ? — it can answer no good pm'pose. You 
have revenged yourself upon the Strelitz ; you have considered it 
your duty to condemn your own son to death ; and if you now 
behead the Empress, your fame will be for ever tarnished. Let 
not each phasis of your reign be marked by blood. Let Moens 
die : — but the Empress ! — would you at the very moment you 
have placed the imperial crown upon her head, sever that head ? 
No, sir ! the crown you gave her ought to be her safeguard." 

Peter made no reply — he was fearfully agitated. For a con- 
siderable time he kept his eyes sternly fixed upon Repnin, then 
left him without uttering another word. ^loens and his sister 
were immediately arrested, and imprisoned in a room of the 
winter palace. Their food was taken to them by Peter himself, 
who allowed no other person to see them. 

At length he interrogated Moens in the presence of General 
Uschakoff. Having fixed his eyes upon the chamberlain with a 
disdainful look, he told hun that he was accused, as was also his 
sister, of having received presents, and thereby endangered the 
reputation of the Empress. 

Moens returned Peter's scowl, and replied : 

" Your victim is before you, sir. State as my confession any 
thing you please, and I will admit all." 
\ The Emperor smiled with convulsive bitterness. Proceedings 
were immediately begun against the brother and sister. Moens 
was condemned to be beheaded ; Madame de Balk to receive 
eleven blows with the knout. This lady had two sons, one a 
page, the other a chamberlain ; both were degraded from their 
rank, and sent to the Persian army to serve as com.mon soldiers. 

Catherine threw herself at the Emperor's feet to obtain the 
paixlon of Madame de Balk, reminding Peter how dearly he had 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 109 

once loved Anna Moiins. The Emperor brutally pushed lier 
back, and in his fury broke with a blow of his fist a large and 
beautiful Venetian looking-glass. 

" There,'^ said he, " it requires only a blow of my hand to 
reduce this glass to its original dust."" 

Catherine looked at him with the most profound anguish, and 
replied in a melting accent, 

" It is true that you have destroyed one of the greatest orna- 
ments of your palace, but do you think that your palace will be 
improved by it ?"" 

This remark rendered the Emperor more calm, but he refused 
to grant the pardon. The only thing Catherine could obtain was 
that the number of blows should be reduced to five. These 
Peter injiicted with his own hand. 

Moens died with great firmness. He had in his possession a 
Ininiature portrait of the Empress set in a small diamond bracelet. 
It was not perceived when he was arrested, and he had preserved 
it till the last moment, concealed it under his garter, whence he 
contrived to take it unperceived, and deliver it to the Lutheran 
minister who attended him, and was exhorting him to return it 
to the Empress. 

: Peter stationed himself at one of the windows of the senate- 
house, to behold the execution. When all was over, he ascended 
the scaffold, and seizing the head of Moens by the hair, lifted it 
up with the ferocious delight of a savage exulting in successful 
revenge. Some hours after he entered the apartment of the 
Empress. He found her pale and care-worn, but her eyes were 
tearless, though her heart was bursting. 

't Come and take a drive,'"* said he, seizing her by the hand 
and dragging her towards an open carriage. When she had en* 
tered it, he drove her himself to the foot of the pole to which 
the head of her late chamberlain was nailed. 

"Such is the end of traitors!'' he exclaimed, fixing the most 
scrutinizing gaze upon Catherine's eyes, expecting to see them 
full of tears. But the Empress was sufficiently mistress of her 
emotions to appear indifferent to this sight of horror. Peter 



110 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOxMEN. 

7 conducted her back to the palace, and had scarcely left her when 
she fell fainting upon the floor. 

V From that time until the Emperor's last illness, they never 
met except in public. It is said that Peter burnt a will he 
had made, appointing Catherine his successor ; but there is not 
the slightest proof that such a will ever existed. It is also said 
that he stated his determination of having her head shaved and 
confining her in a convent, immediately after the marriage of 
Elizabeth, her second daughter. 

Catherine had a strong party at the Russian court, and was 
extremely popular throughout the empire. The army was wholly 
devoted to her ; both officers and men had seen her among them I 
sharing their dangers and privations, and she was their idol. 
A measure of such extreme harshness would perhaps have 
endangered Peter's own power, and exposed him to great per- 
sonal danger. MenzicofF, an able and clear-sighted statesman, ' 
in whom the Empress had great confidence, was at the head 
of her party, and ready to support her in any measures she 
might take for her personal safety. But the violent agitation to 
which Peter had been lately a prey, and the shock he had 
received from supposing Catherine faithless to his bed, brought 
on one of those attacks which had often before placed his life 
in jeopardy. This time, the symptoms appeared so aggravated, 
that the physicians lost all hope. The convulsions succeeded 
each other with frightful rapidity, and the life of Peter the 
Great was soon beyond the power of human art. On receiving 
intimation of his illness, Catherine immediately hastened to his 
bedside, which she no longer quitted. She sat up with him 
three successive nights, without taking any rest during the day, 
and on the 28th of January 1725, he expired in her arms, ^f 

Peter had been unable to speak from the moment his complaint 
took a fatal turn. He however made several attempts to write, but 
unsuccessfully ; and the following words alone could be made out : 

" Let every thing be delivered to '"^ 

Meanwhile, MenzicofF had taken his measures to secure the 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. Ill 

throne for Catlierine, wliose son had died in 1719. He seized 
upon the treasury and the citadel, and the moment Peter's 
death was announced, he proclaimed the Empress under the 
name of Catherine I. He encountered but little opposition, 
and the great majority of the nation hailed her accession to the 
throne as a blessing. 

The beginning of her reign was glorious, for she religiously 
followed the intentions of Peter. He had instituted the order 
of St. Alexander Newski, and she conferred it ; he had also 
formed the project of founding an academy, and she founded it. 
She suppressed the rebellion of the cossacks, and there is no 
doubt that, if she had lived, her reign would have been re- 
markable. But a short time after her accession to the throne, 
she fell into a state of languor, arising from a serious derange- 
ment of her health. The complaint was aggravated by an 
immoderate use of Tokay wine, in which her physicians could 
not prevent her from indulging; and she died on the 27th of 
May 1727, aged thirty-eight years. 

Catherine was one of the most extraordinary women the 
world has produced. She would have distinguished herself in 
any station. Her soul was great and noble; her intellect 
quick and capacious. Her total want of education only serves 
to throw a stronger light upon her strength of mind and 
pewerful genius. Doubtless there are some passages in her 
life, which might, with advantage, be expunged from her his- 
tory ; but much has been imputed to her, of which she was 
guiltless. She has been taxed with hastening Peter's death, 
by giving him poison. ; This Voltaire has triumphantly refuted. 
The imputation was raised by a party who had espoused the 
interests of the Czarowitz, and were hostile to the improvements 
introduced by Peter. More than a century has elapsed since 
these events took place, and the hatred and prejudices which 
attended them have gradually melted away. Any but a dis- 
passionate examination of this heinous charge is now impossible, 
and it must lead to a complete acquittal of Catherine.^ 



112 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

' Eudocia Theodorowna Lapoukin, Peter's wife, and the mother of the 
Czarowitz Alexis, being neglected by her husband, who had become attached 
to Anna Moens, a Flemish lady settled at Moscow, consoled herself for her 
husband's indifference by carrying on a criminal intercourse with a young 
boyard named KlebofF. This was discovered by the Czar, and his vengeance 
was terrible. The Czarina's head was shaved, and she was forced to take the 
veil in a convent at Moscow. The accomplice of her guilt was impaled alive. 

2 The particulars of this campaign are to be found, not only in Peter's own 
journal, but in every history of Russia. It appears from the Czar's account, 
that the Grand Vizier, far from being the fool Charles XII. thought him, was, 
on the contrary, a man of great capacity. 

^ This house is still standing, and till within a very few years, was always 
called '* The Prince's house." 

* There is a curious anecdote relative to Kalf's son when in France. His 
father having occasion to send him to Paris, and wishing at the same time 
that he should study the manners and language of the country, directed 
him to live with a certain degree of magnificence, to adopt the dress of the 
French court, and to frequent the best company. 

The word Kalf in Dutch, is the same as our English Calf. n French 
it is \^EAU. Young Kalf therefore called himself M. de Veau, and as he dis- 
played great opulence, the French, in the same manner as they term every 
rich Englishman milor, immediately gave the young Dutchman the title of 
Monsieur le Comte Devaux. He was introduced into the highest circles, 
supped at the parties given by the princesses, played and lost his money at the 
Duchess of Berry's, and was in short extremely well received. A young 
marquis, with whom he contracted a sort of intimacy, promised to go and 
see him at Sardam. This promise was kept, and the marquis on arriving at 
Kalf's residence, inquired for Monsieur le Comte de Kalf. The Trench pelii 
maiirewdLS immediately taken into the father's dock-yard, where to his horror 
and astonishment he found his count dressed in a sailor's jacket and trowsers, 
with a hatchet in his hand, directing his father's workmen. Young Kalf re- | 
ceived his guest with the primitive simplicity of a Sardam shipwright, un-^ 
corrupted by his residence at Paris. 

5 Jotoff was a half-witted old man, a sort of buffoon. He had taught 
Peter to read. When the Czar returned from France, he was annoyed with 
the Sorbonne for having attempted to unite the Greek and Roman churches. 
To laugh at this learned body, he appointed Jotoff Knes Papa, with a salary 
of 2000 roubles, and a house at Petersburg, in the quarter of the Tartars^ 
The ceremony of installation was performed by buffoons, and the new pontiff 
was addressed by four stutterers. He created his cardinals, and after the cere- 
mony, he and they became so intoxicated that they rolled about the streets. 

^ Peter's body was opened, and the cause of his death accurately ascer- 
tained. It was produced by imposthume in the neck of the bladder, which 
ended in mortification. There were no traces of poison, nor the slightest 
grounds for supposing that any had been administered to him. 





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113 



ANN BOLEYN. 

When the sister of Henry VIII, a young and blooming 
girl of sixteen, arrived in France to wed Louis XII, a mon- 
arch old enough to be her grandfather, she was attended by 
several young ladies belonging to the noblest families of Eng- 
land. Among them was Ann Boleyn, celebrated not only by 
her misfortunes and untimely end, but on account of her being 
the immediate cause of the Reformation, or establishment of the 
Protestant religion in England. Hers is an eventful history. 

Ann was the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn, a gentleman 
allied to the noblest houses in the kingdom. His mother was 
of the house of Ormond, and his grandfather, when mayor of 
London, had married one of the daughters of Lord Hastings. 
Lady Boleyn, Ann's mother, was a daughter of the Duke of 
Norfolk. Sir Thomas Boleyn being a man of talent, had 
been employed by the King in several diplomatic missions, 
which he had successfully executed. When the Princess Mary 
left England to wear, for three short months, the crown of 
Queen Consort of France, Ann was very young ; she therefore 
finished her education at the French Court, where her beauty 
and accomplishments were highly valued. After the death of 
Louis XII, his young widow having married Brandon, Duke 
of Suffolk, and returned to England, Ann entered the service 
of Claude, wife of Francis I. On the death of this Queen, 
she had an appointment in the household of the Duchess of 
Alen^on, a very distinguished princess ; but she retained it 
only a few months, and then returned to her native country. 

The precise period of her arrival in England is not accurately 
known ; but it was a fatal day for Catherine of Arragon, to 
whom she was soon after appointed maid of honour. In this 
situation she had frequent opportunities of conversing witlr 



114 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

tlie King; lie was not proof against lier fascinations, and be- 
came deeply enamoiu-ed of lier. But Henry's was the love of 
tlie sensualist — its only aim was self-gratification ; and wher- 
ever it fell, it withered or destroyed. 

Until Henry beheld Ann Boleyn, he had never expressed 
anv dissatisfaction at his marriage with Catherine. On a sudden 
he conceived scruples with regard to this union. It was mon- 
strous — it was incestuous, he said ; and he could not recon- 
cile it to his conscience to consider his brother's widow any 
longer his wife. It is true, that Catherine had gone through a 
ceremony at the altar, with Arthm-, Prince of Wales, Henry's 
elder brother ; but the prince had died soon after, being then 
only seventeen years of age. And when political reasons sub- 
sequently led to the marriage between Catherine and Henry, 
the new Prince of Wales felt no scruples — nay, his con- 
science slumbered twenty years before it was awakened to a 
sense of the enormity which now afflicted him. 

But awakened at length it was ; and it appeared to him under 
the form of a young girl beaming with beauty, wit, and love- 
liness. The conversation* and manners of Ann Boleyn had a 
peculiar charm, which threw all the other English ladies into 
the shade. She had acquired it at the most polished and 
elegant, but perhaps the most licentious, court in Em'ope ; and 
when Henry, fascinated by her wit, gazed with rapture on her 
fair form — vrhen he listened with intense delight to her thought- 
less sallies, and madly loved on, little did she think that, while 
her conduct was pm-e, this very thoughtlessness of speech would 
one day be expiated by a public and disgraceful death. 

Ann refused to become the King's mistress; for she very 
justly, thought, that the more elevated dishonom* is, the more 
clearly it is perceived. 

" My birth is noble enough," she said, " to entitle me to 
become your wife. If it be true, as you assert, that your mar- 
riage with the Queen is incestuous, let a divorce be publicly 
pronounced, and I am yours." 



ANN BOLEYN. 115 

This sealed the fate of Catherine of Arragon. Henry im- 
mediately directed Cardinal Wolsey, his prime minister and 
favourite, to write to Rome, and obtain a brief from the Pope, 
annulling his marriage. Knight, the King's secretary, was like- 
wise despatched thither to hasten the conclusion of this business. 

Clement VII. then filled the pontiff's throne." Timid and 
irresolute, he dreaded the anger of the Emperor Charles V, 
Catherine's nephew, who kept him almost a prisoner, and would 
naturally avenge any insult offered to his aunt; Clement, there- 
fore, eluded giving a definitive answer. But being pressed by 
the King of France, who was the more ready, from his hatred 
of the Emperor, to advocate Henry's cause on this occasion, 
the Pope at length consented to acknowledge that Julius II. 
had no power to issue a bull authorising Catherine's marriage 
with her brother-in-law. This declaration was a serious attack 
upon the infallibility of the popes ; but Clement's situation was 
perilous, and the only chance he had of freeing himself from 
the thraldom of Charles V. was by conciliating the Kings of 
England and France. But on the other hand, he was anxious 
to bring ■ about the re-establishment of his house at Florence, 
which he thought the Emperor alone could effect. Moreover, 
Charles had a large army in Italy, constantly threatening Rome. 
The Pontiff had likewise some other grounds of alarm. It is 
known that illegitimate children are excluded from the papal 
throne, and Clement was the natural son of Julian de Medicis ; 
for though, if we believe the authority of Leo X, a promise of 
marriage had existed between his parents, it did not efface the 
stain. Nor was this all : in defiance of the severe laws of 
Julius II. against simony, Clement had been guilty of that 
crime, and Cardinal Colonna had a note of hand in. his possession, 
subscribed by the Pope, and applied to facilitate his accession 
to the chair of St. Peter. The Emperor was aware of both 
these facts ; and taking advantage of Clement's timidity , of 
character, constantly thi-eatened to assemble a general council 
and have him deposed, 

i2 



116 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Thus was tlie pontiff urged to opposite acts by tlie rival mon- 
arclis ; and his struggle between such contending interests led 
to that lono- ambio-uitv of conduct and ultimate decision which 
severed England from the Church of Rome. 

Meanwhile, a secret marriage, it is said, had taken place 
between Henry VIII. and Ann Boleyn ; and what seems to 
confirm this, is the activity Ann displayed in pressing Cardinal 
Wolsey, and Stephen Gardiner, his secretary, to bring the 
divorce to a conclusion. The following is a letter which she 
wrote to the cardinal, at a time when a contagious disease raged 
in London, and she had retired to a country residence with 
the King. It is a good specimen of her mind and character. 
" My Lord, 

" In my most hmnblest wise that my heart can think, I de- 
su-e you to pardon me that I am so bold to trouble you with my 
simple and rude writing, esteeming it to proceed from her that 
is much desirous to know that your Grace does well, as I per- 
ceive by this bearer that you do. The which I pray God long 
to continue, as I am most bound to pray ; for I do know the 
gi-eat pains and troubles that you have taken for me both day 
and night, is never like to be recompensed on my part, but 
alonely in loving you next unto the King's Grace, above all 
creatures living. And I do not doubt but the daily proofs of 
my deeds shall manifestly declare and affirm my writing to be 
true, and I do trust that you do think the same. My Lord, I 
do assm-e you I do long to hear from you news of the legate ; 
for I do hope and they come from you they shall be very good : 
and I am sure you desire it as much as I, and more, and it 
were possible, as I know it is not : and thus remaining in a 
steadfast hope, I make an end of my letter, written with the 
hand of her that is bound to be, 

" Your humble servant, 

"Ann Boleyn." 

Underneath the King had added : — 

" The writer of this letter would not cease till she had caused 



ANN BOLEYN. 117 

me likewise to set to my hand ; desiring yon, though it be short, 
to take it in good part. I ensure yon there is neither of us but 
that greatly desireth to see you, and much more joyous to hear 
that you have scaped this plague so well, trusting the fury 
thereof to be passed, specially with them that keepeth good 
diet, as I trust you do. The not hearing of the legate's arrival 
in France, causeth us somewhat to muse ; notwithstanding, we 
trust, by your diligence and vigilancy (with the assistance of 
Almighty God) shortly to be eased out of that trouble. No 
more to you at this time : but that I pray God send you as 
good health and prosperity as the writer would. By your 
'' Loving Sovereign and Friend, 

" Henry K." 

Though the King had fled from the contagion with Ann 
Boleyn, he had given no orders to enable Catherine to leave 
London ; and she remained there exposed to the danger of the 
plague. No doubt, the possibility of her death had occurred to 
Henry's mind ; and the reckless atrocity of his character may 
justify the inference, that he had left her in London for the 
express purpose of exposing her to die of the disease, and thus 
at once settling the divorce question. 

Just as the Pope's brief for the divorce was about to be 
issued, the sacking of Rome took place, and the Pontiff 
remained during a whole year imprisoned in the castle of St. 
Angelo. On being set at liberty by the Emperor, he was 
afraid to pronounce the dishonour of Charles's aunt, whose com- 
plaints resounded throughout Europe. At length, to temporise 
with all parties, and not lose sight of his own interest, he ap- 
pointed Cardinal Campeggio, his legate in England, for the 
purpose of trying the question, but gave him secret orders to 
proceed as slowly as possible. The new legate was old and 
afflicted with gout, severe attacks of which were his ever ready 
excuse for procrastination ; and it took him ten months to tra- 
vel from Rome to London. 

Ann Boleyn, on hearing that the legate was at last on his 



118 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

way to England, again wrote to Wolsey, expressing lier gra- 
titude in strong terms. 

" And as for the coming of the legate,^' she said, in this 
letter, " I desire that much, and if it be God's pleasure, I pray 
him to send this matter shortly to a good end, and then I trust, 
my Lord, to recompense part of your great pains. In the 
which I must require you in the mean time to accept my good 
will, in the stead of the power, the which must proceed partly 
from you, as our Lord knoweth ; to whom I beseech ' to send 
vou lonof life, with continuance in honour.'' 

But Catherine was by no means so grateful as Ann for the 
pains that Wolsey took to constitute an arbitrary and iniquitous 
tribunal, and she called him a heretic and abettor of adul- 
tery. This the cardinal-minister little heeded ; for he had the 
King, and the King's mistress on his side ; and the host of 
flatterers by whom he was siuTOunded made him believe that his 
power was too firmly , established ever to be shaken. 

AYolsey had gTcatly contributed to bring about Henry's con- 
nexion with Ann Bolepi, because he thought that such a pas- 
sion would absorb the King's time, and make him careless of 
business, by which the minister would become master of the 
kingdom. Queen Catherine, with her oratory, her rosary, and 
her religious austerity, was not the Queen that suited AVolsey's 
views ; she had nothing to attract the King from the cares and 
business of his kingdom. ^Ann Boleyn, on the contrary, was a 
creature formed of love ; she was always gay, happy, and endear- 
ing when in Henry's company. :^ The King, therefore, overcome 
by a fascination which he could not resist, bent his neck to her 
yoke, and left the governance of his dominions in the hands 
of his ambitious minister. 

When once the flowery chain had encu'cled Henry, Wol- 
sey little cared v;hcther it was sanctified or not by religion. 
In his corrupt mind, he perhaps thought it might be more 
durable, if it did not obtain the sanction of the Church. But 
he at length received the Pope's commission, and Campeggio 



ANN BOLEYN. 119 

arrived in England ; he, therefore, took his measures ^ith the 
legate, and they opened their tribunal. To keep up an appear- 
ance of propriety, Ann immediately left London. 

The two cardinals, having opened their court in London, 
cited the King and Queen to appear before them. Both obey- 
ed, and when Henry's name was called, he rose and answered to 
it. The Queen was dressed in mourning ; her countenance was 
calm, though it but ill disguised the anguish of her mind. 
When the legate pronounced the words " Most high, most 
powerful, and most illustrious Lady and Princess," — Catherine, 
without looking at him, or making any reply, rose and threw 
herself at the King's feet, embracing his knees and suffusing 
them with her tears. She urged, she intreated, she conjured 
him by all that is most sacred to man, not to cast her off; but 
she sought in vain to soften a heart absorbed by love for 
another. She did not, however, thus humble herself for her own 
sake: she was supplicating for her daughter, whom the decision 
of the legates might stamp with illegitimacy and dishonour. 

" Sir," said she, " what is this tribunal ? Have you con- 
voked it to try me ? — And wherefore ? — Have I commit- 
ted any crime ? — No : I am innocent, and you alone have au- 
thority over me. You are my only support, my sole protector, 
I am but a poor weak woman, alone, defenceless, and ready to 
fall under the attacks of my enemies. When I left my family 
and my country, it was because I relied on English good faith ; 
and now, in this foreign land, am I cut off from my friends 
and kindred, and deserted by those who once basked in the 
sunshine of my favour. I have, and desire to have, none but 
you for my support and protection — you, and your honour. 
Henry, do you wish to destroy your daughter's fame ? Con- 
sider, she is your first-born ! And would you suffer her to be 
disgraced, when I, her mother, am innocent, and you, her father, 
are a powerful sovereign ? " 

She then arose from her kneeling posture, and looking at the 
Court with dignity, 



120 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" Is this the tribunal,'' said she, " that would try a Queen of 
England ? It consists of none but enemies, and not a single 
judge. They cannot pronounce an equitable judgment ; I there- 
fore decline their jurisdiction, and must be excused from heed- 
ing any further citations in this matter, until I hear from 
Spain.'' 

Having made a profound obeisance to the King, she left 
the Court. After her departure, the King protested he had 
no cause of complaint against her, and that remorse of con- 
science Avas his only reason for demanding a divorce. 

The legates again cited the Queen ; and as she refused to ap- 
pear, they declared her contumacious. There was a solemn 
mockery in the whole of these iniquitous proceedings, that ren- 
dered them frightful. At length they Ivere drawing to a close ; 
for Ann Boleyn, who had returned to London, was urging Wolsey 
forward with the full power of her charms, and the cardinal 
was by no means insensible to her flatteries. But when Heirry 
was every moment expecting the judgment which would allow 
him to have Ann crowned. Cardinal Campeggio announced 
that the Pope had reserved to himself the ultimate exami- 
nation of the case, which he had evoked to Rome before his 
own tribunal. 

Henry at first raved and blasphemed, denouncing vengeance 
against the Pontiff; but he soon became calmer, and set about 
finding a means of overcoming this new obstacle, and hurling his 
own thunders in defiance of those of the Church. Ann wept 
bitterly at finding herself as far from the throne as ever. But 
liow powerful were her tears ! Henry vowed he would avenge 
each of them with an ocean of blood, (jhen it was that he threw 
off liis allegiance to the Church of Rome, and ultimately united 
both Church and State under his sole governance?\^ 

Meanwhile, Ann's harassed mind thirsted for vengeance upon 
some one, for the annihilation of her hopes. She saw not yet 
the means of destroying the barrier which now stood betwixt her 
and the tluone ; and she had need of a victim, She found -one 



ANN BOLEYN. 121 

in Cardinal Wolsey. It appeared to her unlikely tliat this man, 
influential as he was in the college of cardinals — for his hand had 
once touched the tiara — should require months and years to do 
that which he might have finished in a single day, Henry was 
not a man who required to be told, a second time, not to love : 
Wolsey had been his favourite, and this was more than suffi- 
cient to effect his ruin ; for the King's friendship, like his love, 
proved a withering curse wherever it fell, 

Wolsey gave an entertainment at York House, a palace 
which the most magnificent monarchs of Europe and Asia 
might have looked upon with envious admiration. There he 
sat, free from care, and joyously wearing away life, quaffing 
the choicest wines of Italy and France in cups of gold enchased 
with jewels and precious enamels. Richly sculptured buffets 
were loaded with dishes of massive gold, sparkling with precious 
gems. A hundred servants wearing their master's arms embla- 
zoned on their liveries, circulated round the vast and fantastically 
sumptuous hall. Young girls, crowned with flowers, burned 
perfumes and embalmed the air, whilst in an upper gallery a 
band of the most skilful musicians of Italy and Germany pro- 
duced a ravishing and voluptuous harmony. 

Suddenly two men stood before the cardinal. Both were 
powerful in the kingdom, and on their appearance, the upstart 
minister was for a moment awed into respect. One was the 
Duke of Suffolk, the King's brother-in-law ; the other was the 
Duke of Norfolk. They had come with orders from the King- 
to demand the great seal from Wolsey. 

, " I will not deliver it up, on a mere verbal order," replied 
the haughty priest. 

The two noblemen withdrew, and returned on the following 
day with a letter from the King. Wolsey then delivered the 
seal into their hands, and it was given to Sir Thomas More. 
Soon after, York House, now Whitehall, together with all the 
costly furniture it contained, was seized in the name of the 
King. 



122 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Tlic fallen cardinal was ordered to retire to Aslier, a country 
seat he possessed near Hampton Court. He was pitied by 
nobody ; for the manner in which he had borne his honours, 
and the general meanness of his conduct, had rendered him ex- 
tremely unpopular. He wept like a child at his disgrace, and 
the least appearance of a return to favour threw him into rap- 
tures. One day, Henry sent him a kind message, with a ring 
in token of regard. The Cardinal was on horseback when he 
met the King's messenger ; he immediately alighted, and falling 
on his knees in the mud, kissed the ring with tears in his eyes. 

This was hypocrisy of the meanest kind ; for it was impos- 
sible he could have loved Henry VIII. 

After the fall of Wolsey, a chance remark made by Dr. 
Thomas Cranmer, Fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge, gave 
the King his cue as to the line of conduct he should adopt. 

" Oh !'"* cried Henry, in his gross joy, " that man has taken 
the right sow by the ear." 

It was deemed expedient to get opinions on the divorce 
question from all the universities in Europe, and to lay these 
opinions before the Pope. This was done ; but Clement, like 
all timid men, thinking to conciliate the nearest, and, as he 
thought, the most dangerous of his enemies, remained inexora- 
ble, and a decision was given against Henry. The Reforma- 
tion immediately followed, and the new ecclesiastical authority 
in England was more obedient to Henry's wisheSii. 

The marriage of the King and Ann Boleyn was now formally 
solemnized ; and the woman on whose account the whole of 
Europe had been embroiled for the last four years, ascended that 
throne destined to be only a passage to a premature grave. 

Sir Thomas Eliot had been sent to Rome with an answer to 
a message from the Pope to Henry, and on his departure Ann 
Boleyn had given him a number of valuable diamonds to be 
employed in bribing those whose aid it was necessary to obtain. 
But nothing could avert the definitive rupture ; and when Eliot 
was about to return to England, Sixtus V, then only a monk, 



ANN BOLEYN. 123 

shrugged up liis shoulders, and lifting his eyes to heaven, 
exclaimed : 

" Great God ! is it not the same to thee, whether Catherine 
of Arragon, or Ann Boleyn, be the wife of Henry VIII. ?"' 

Ann Boleyn was now at the summit of her wishes : she was 
at length Queen of England, a title which had cost her too 
great anxiety of mind for her not to appreciate it far beyond its 
worth. But one thing embittered the joys it brought her ; this 
was the idea that the same title was still retained by the un- 
happy Catherine. She, therefore, resolved to work her will 
with Henry, and deprive her late rival of this last remnant of 
the honours she had enjoyed, v/ithout reproach, during a period 
of more than twenty years, and until Ann's beauty had estranged 
the King's affection. Henry could not resist the tears and 
intreaties of his new Queen, whose influence over him was 
strengthened by the birth of the Princess Elizabeth, and he 
sent Lord Mountjoy to apprize Catherine that she was in future 
to bear no other title than that of Dowager Princess of Wales. 

" I am still Queen of England,"' she replied with dignity ; 
" and I cannot be deprived of that title except by death, or by 
a sentence of my divorce from the King, pronounced by the 
Pope." 

The thunders of the Church were at length brought into play 
against Henry. Paul III. had succeeded to the papal throne ; 
and though, whilst cardinal, he had always favoured Henry's 
pretensions, perceiving now that a final breach had been effected 
with the English Church, he declared that the King of Eng- 
land had incurred the penalty of major excommunication. A 
bull was therefore sent forth declaring Henry's throne forfeited, 
and the issue of his marriage with Ann Boleyn incapable of 
succeeding to the crown of England. No person, under pain 
of excommunication, was to acknowledge him King ; and the 
nobility of England were enjoined, under the same penalty, to 
take up arms against him as a rebel and traitor to the Church 
and to Christ. All the archbishops, bishops, and curates of 



124 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

England, were commanded to excommunicate liim every holiday 
after the Gospel at mass, and the Emperor Charles V. was 
exhorted, as protector of the Chm-ch, to enforce these orders 
with his armies. The King of France, as the most Christian 
king, was likewise enjoined to break ofF all intercourse with 
Henry VIII. To make the insult more bitter, the Pope or- 
dered all curates in the neighbourhood of Calais to read the 
bull of excommunication in their several churches, and proclaim 
it from the pulpit. 

Henry felt but little concern at this noisy but powerless attack. 
Having assembled a parliament, an act was passed investing him 
with all the powers of the Pope in England. But he had also 
an eye to the temporalities of the church ; and upon the strength 
of the spiritual authority he had acquired, he abolished the 
monasteries and confiscated the ecclesiastical possessions. To 
gratify his own avarice and reward his favourites at no cost to 
himself, he robbed the clergy of the property bestowed upon 
them, by pious founders, for their support and that of the 
poor. Though three centuries have since elapsed, the effects 
of these measures are still felt in Enoland. The oversown 
revenues of some of the bishopricks, the enormous wealth of 
the deans and chapters, the inadequate stipends of the inferior 
clergy, the system of poor's rates so inefficient and yet so 
biu'thensome, the lay impropriations despoiling both the clergy 
and the poor — nay, the very unpopularity of tithes, which are 
principally claimed by pluralists and seculars, are all fruits, not 
of the reformation itself, but of the system of spoliation 
pursued by Henry VIII. the moment he had converted the 
worship of Almighty God into a political engine. 

\Ai^n Boleyn has been accused of prompting the King to 
these measures; but I apprehend that the charge proceeds 
solely from the blind vindictiveness of the Catholic party^ Ann 
was thoughtless, giddy, and fond of admiration ; but her mind 
was as incapable of preconceiving as of pursuing a cold and 
premeditated svstem of vengeance. Her anoer was easilv roused 



ANN BOLEYN. 125 

when her vanity was wounded or her interests opposed, but it 
evaporated as easily. It is true that she felt a bitterness of 
hostility almost foreign to her nature towards Catherine ; but 
that unhappy princess stood in her way and endangered the 
inheritance of her daughter. This is certainly the most un- 
amiable part of Ann's character, and nothing can be said in its 
justification. 

The dignity and propriety of Catherine's conduct, joined to 
her misfortunes, called forth the pity of the whole Christian 
world. Henry again ordered her, under the severest penalties, 
to forego the title of Queen ; and the persons in her service 
were commanded to call her the Princess of Wales. Catherine 
refused the services of those of her officers who obeyed this 
mandate, and for a few days she was wholly without attendants. 
So many persecutions, and a deep sense of the injuries she had 
received, preyed upon her health, and she fell dangerously ill. 
The Kino^ g-ave orders that the neatest care should be taken of 
her, and every thing done that could contribute to her comfort ; 
as if, after he had stricken his victim to death, he would fain heal 
the wound. 

Ann was alarmed at this seeming return of the King's 
tenderness for Catherine. The clamours raised by the Catholic 
party also gave her strong apprehensions that the claims 
of her daughter would be disallowed. She therefore again 
exerted her influence over Henry, and the Princess Elizabeth 
was proclaimed, by sound of trumpet, heir to the throne of 
England, to the exclusion of her sister Mary. 

Catherine died on the 6th of January 1536, at Kimbolton, 
in the county of Huntingdon, in the fiftieth year of her age. 
Before she expired, she wrote a very affecting letter to the King, 
in which she recommended her daughter to his fatherly care. 
The last sentence of this letter is deserving of notice, and could 
have been written only by a woman. 
^.--- " I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all 
things.'' 



126 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Henry "'s stern nature was overcome by these simple words, 
"vmtten at tlie moment of death, when tlie illusions of the world 
disappear before the awful view of eternity. He wept over this 
letter, penned by a hand already cold and stiff — he wept at this 
last address of his victim, at this last proof of fond affection 
which he had so basely repaid. 

Ann evinced the most indecent joy on receiving the news of 
Catherine's death. When the messenger arrived, she was 
washing her hands in a splendid vermeil basin, beside which 
stood a ewer of the same metal. She immediately took both 
and thrusting them into his hands, 

" Receive this present," said she, '' for your good news."" 

The same day her parents came to see her, at Whitehall. 
She ran and embraced them in a delirium of joy. 

"Rejoice I" she cried; " now is your daughter truly a Queen.". 
j A few days after this event, Ann was delivered of a still-born 
son, which the Catholic party attributed to the effect of the 
excommunication. Henry's passion for her now began to sub- 
side, and he soon loved her no more. Inconstancy was as much 
a part of his nature as cruelty. The possession of Ann, 
purchased at such immense sacrifices, divested of the excitement 
which, during six years, had kept it alive, had no longer any 
charms for him. If the austerity of Catherine's temper had 
estranged him from her, the excessive gaiety of her successor 
produced the same effect. Ann's lively sallies, to Avhich Henry 
had once listened as if spell-bound, now threw him into fits of 
ill-hmnour of several hours' duration ; for his heart had so many 
moving folds that its vulnerable side one day was impenetrable 
the next. Courtiers are keen-sighted, and those about the King- 
soon perceived that he was absorbed by a new passion. Jane 
Seymour had replaced Ann Boleyn in Henry's -love, just as Ann 
had replaced Catherine of Arragon. But to indulge in this new 
passion, and elevate its object to the throne, it was necessary to 
convict the Queen of a crime; and there was no want of accusers 
the moment the tide of Ann's fiivour had begun to ebb. 



ANN BOLEYN. 127 

Tlie Queen had many enemies besides the Catholic party. Her 
extreme gaiety and powers of ridicule, the mere effects of ex- 
uberant spirits in a young and sprightly woman, had drawn upon 
her much greater resentment than serious insult would have 
done. Thus, the moment the decline of Henry^s affection w.as 
perceived, accusations poured in, the least of which was suffi- 
cient to insure Ann's disgrace and death. 

But to avoid giving umbrage to the nation, whose discontent 
had already been manifested on other occasions, an offence of 
more than usual enormity was requisite. Ann had a brother, 
the Viscount of Rocheford, to whom she was tenderly attached. 
The Viscountess of Rocheford, his wife, a woman of the most 
profligate character, was the first to instil the poison of jea- 
lousy into the King's ear, and to insinuate calumnies of the 
blackest die, which also implicated her husband. Henry Norris, 
groom of the stole, Weston and Brereton, gentlemen of the 
privy chamber, and Mark Smeton, a musician of the king's band, 
were faithfully devoted to Ann, and had won her friendship and 
confidence. They were also included in the plot, as accomplices 
of her alleged profligacy. She had herself facilitated the plans 
of her accusers by her general thoughtlessness and levity of de- 
meanour, as well as by some silly speeches. 

Ann was more vain than proud ; and her vanity was applied 
principally to the charms of her person. To obtain admira- 
tion, she spared neither her smiles nor her powers of pleasing. 
Her education at the French court had tainted her with that 
spirit of gallantry, more in conversation than in actions, which 
distinguished the first years of the reign of Francis I. But her 
conduct was strictly virtuous, and her soul pure and innocent. 
Inferences were, however, dravm from things perfectly harmless 
in themselves, but certainly unbecoming in a young female, and 
these, coupled with the infamous tales of her sister-in-law, -had 
roused all the malignant feelings -of Henry's nature. 

On the 1st of May 1536, there was a tilting-match at 
Greenwich, and the Queen had never appeared in better spirits. 



128 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Henry thought that she looked at Rocheford with something 
more than brotherly affection. Norris, who had just been tilting, 
having approached her, she greeted him with a smile, and dropped 
her handkerchief. Though this was probably accidental, Henry 
attributed it to an improper feeling towards the gi'oom of the 
stole, and, uttering a dreadful 'oath, immediately left Greenwich. 
When his departure was communicated to Ann, she only 
laughed and said, 

" He will return;' 

But he did not return, and a few hours after, those accused 
of being her accomplices in adultery were arrested and sent to 
the Tower, while she was confined to her room. She now saw 
her impending fate. 

" I am lost !'" said she, in tears, to her mother and to Miss 
Methley, one of her maids of honour ; " I am for ever lost."'^ 

Next morning she was placed in a litter and conveyed to the 
Tower, where she was closely imprisoned, and not allowed to 
communicate with anybody even in writing. Her uncle's wife, 
Lady Bolepi, was appointed to sleep in the same room with her, 
in order to extort admissions from her which might be turned 
to her disadvantage. This lady hated the Queen, and therefore 
made no scruple to accept so odious a mission. 

Henry was always in a hun-y to consummate a crime when 
he had once conceived it. He therefore lost not an instant 
in constituting a tribunal of peers for the trial of the brother 
and sister. The Duke of Norfolk, forgetful of the ties of blood 
between himself and Ann, and prompted by his ambition, 
became her most dangerous enemy. He presided at this tri- 
bunal as Lord High Steward, and twenty-five peers Avere 
appointed to sit with him. They opened their court on the 
15th of May, and the Queen having appeared before them, 
declared that she was innocent, and throwing herself upon her 
knees, appealed to God for the truth of her statement. She 
confessed certain instances of perhaps unbecoming levity, but 
the sum of her offences would not have tainted the reputation of 



ANN BOLEYN. 129 

a young girl. She defended herself with admirable ability and 
address. But she was doomed beforehand, and she and her 
brother were condemned to die. The sentence bore, that she 
should be beheaded or burnt according to the King's good 
pleasure ; but Henry spared her the pile. 
y^Ann's benevolence of character had led her to confer obliga- 
tions upon all around her ; but when the wheel of fortune turned, 
not a voice was raised in her favour except that of Cranmer, 
who remained faithful to her, but unhappily had no means of 
averting her fate. 

No one can doubt the Queen's innocence ; and if her conduct, 
during the few fleeting years of her greatness, was sometimes 
marked with thoughtless imprudence, she met her death with 
noble dignity and fortitude. There is often a strength of he- 
roism in woman quite beyond the feeble and helpless condition 
of her sex ; and this was displayed by Ann to an extent which 
will always combine the highest admiration with the pity awa- 
kened by her misfortunes. A short time before her trial, she 
wrote the King a letter, which, says a celebrated English 
historian,^ " contains so much nature and even elegance, that 
it deserves to be transmitted to posterity." I therefore give 
it a place here. 
" Sir, ■ 
" Your Grace's displeasure and my imprisonment are things 
so strange unto me, as v;hat to write or what to excuse, I am 
altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me to 
confess a truth and so obtain your favour) by such an one whom 
you know to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no sooner 
received this message by him, than I rightly conceived your mean- 
ing ; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may procure 
my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty perform your 
command. 

" But let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife will 
ever be brought to acknowledge a fault where not so much as a 
thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never prince 



130 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

had wife more loyal in all duty and in all true affection, than 
you have ever found in Ann Boleyn, with which name and place 
I could willingly have contented myself, if God and your 
Grace's pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any 
time so far forget myself in my exaltation or received Queenship, 
but that I always looked for such an alteration as I now find ; 
for the ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation 
than your Grace's fancy, the least alteration, I knew, w^as fit and 
sufficient to draw that fancy to some other subject. You have 
chosen me, from a low estate, to be your Queen and companion, 
far beyond my desert or desire. If then you found me worthy 
of such honour, good your Grace let not any light fancy, or bad 
counsel of mine enemies, withdraw your princely favour from me ; 
neither let that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart 
towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on your most 
dutiful wife, and the infant-princess yom* daughter : Try me, 
good King, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn 
enemies sit as my accusers and judges ; yea, let me receive an 
open trial, for my truth shall fear no shame ; then shall you see, 
either mine innocency cleared, your suspicion and conscience 
satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my 
guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may 
determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open cen- 
sure; and mine offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is 
at liberty, both before God and man, not only to execute v\^orthy 
punishment on me as an unlawful wife, but to follow your af- 
fection, already settled on that party, for whose sake I am now as 
I am, whose name I could some good while since have pointed 
unto : your Grace being not ignorant of my suspicion therein. 

" But if you have already determined of me, and that not only 
my death, but an infamous slander must bring you the enjoying 
of your desired happiness ; then I desire of God that he will 
pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, the 
instruments thereof ; and that he will not call you to a strict ac- 
count for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at his general 



ANN BOLEYxN. 131 

judgment-seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear, 
and in whose judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the world may 
thmk of me) mine innocence shall be openly known, and suiffi- 
ciently cleared. 

" My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear 
the burthen of your Grace's displeasure, and that it may not 
touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who (as I 
understand) are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If 
ever I have found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Ann 
Boleyn hath been pleasing in your ears, then let me obtain this 
request ; and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any further, 
with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in 
his good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions. From 
my doleful prison in the Tower this 6th of May. 

" Your most loyal and ever faithful wife, 

" Ann Boleyn." 

This letter produced no other effect than to hasten the trial. 
It is said that the decision of the peers v^as at first in favour of 
the queen and her brother, but that the Duke of Norfolk having 
compelled them to reconsider a verdict so contrary to the King's 
expectations, both were condemned to death. 

Ann with resignation, prepared to meet her fate. The day 
before her execution, she forced the wife of the Lieutenant of 
the Tower to sit in the chair of state, and bending her knee, 
entreated this lady, in the name of God to go to the Princess 
Mary and entreat forgiveness for all the affronts her Highness 
had received from her, hoping they would not be punished in 
the person of her daughter Elizabeth, to whom she trusted Mary 
would prove a good sister. 

Next morning she dressed herself with royal magnificence. 

'' I must be bravely attired," she said, " to appear as be- 
comes the queen of the feast." 

She sent the King a last message before she died, not to so- 
licit any favour, but to thank him for the care he took of her 
elevation. 

k2 



132 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" Tell him,"" she said, " that he made me a marchioness, 
then a queen, and is now about to make me a saint — for I die 
innocent.'"* 

When the Lieutenant of the Tower came to inform her that 
all was ready, she received him not only with firmness, but 
with gaiety. 

"The executioner,"*"* she observed with a smile, "is skilful, 
and my neck is slender."'"' And she measured her neck with 
her hands. 

She walked to the scaffold with a firm step. Having ascended 
it, she prayed devoutly for the king, praised him highly, and 
termed him " a gentle and most merciful prince.'' But these 
exaggerated praises can be attributed only to her fear that her 
daughter Elizabeth might suflPer, on her account, the same indig- 
nities that Catherine of Arragon, through her obstinacy, had 
brought upon the Princess Mary. Ann Boleyn was beheaded 
on the 29th of May 1536, by the executioner of Calais, who 
had been sent for as the most expert in Henry's dominions. 
Her body was carelessly placed into a common elm chest, and 
buried in the Tower. 

Henry's subsequent conduct is a complete justification of 
Ann Boleyn. The very day after her execution, he. married 
.Tane Seymour, who did not live long enough to be sacrificed to 
a new attachment ; for she died, little more than two years after 
her marriage, in giving birth to Edward VI. 

The character of Ann Boleyn has been basely calumniated 
by party historians, especially by Sanderus or Sanders, " who," 
says Bishop Burnet, " did so impudently deliver falsehoods, 
that from his own book many of them may be disproved." 
Though never calculated to become a great queen, Ann Boleyn 
had nevertheless many good and amiable qualities, which more 
than compensate for the silly vanity and thoughtlessness of a 
young and beautiful woman, conscious of her personal attractions, 
and continually beset by flatterers. She was high-minded, bene- 
volent to a fault, and strictly virtuous ; and though her history 



ANN BOLEYN. 133 

is remarkable only from the influence, it had upon the affairs of 
Europe during several years, and from its having led to a re- 
formation of religion in England, yet the moment her young 
and innocent life was doomed to be offered up a sacrifice to the 
brutal passions of Henry VIII, and she displayed the fortitude 
and elevation of mind which preceded her death, she won a right 
to the admiration of posterity, and to a high seat in that temple 
which the celebrated women of all countries have raised to their 
own fame. 



Hume. 



134 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER, 

BARONESS DE STAEL HOLSTEIN. 

It is a flattering task for a FrencliAvoman to write the life of 
Madame de Stael, whom France claims as one of its daughters. 
Though born of Swiss parents, this highly gifted woman does 
not the less belong to a country which she loved so dearly that 
nothing could console her for her banishment from it. Her 
works have indeed given her a claim upon every country ; but 
it was upon her native land, and more especially upon the city 
in which she spent her youth, that she had placed her best 
affections. 

Madame de Stael is the most illustrious among those females 
who never wore a crown, nor wielded a sceptre ; and she has 
certainly done more than any other woman to show that her 
sex may attain the highest powers of the human intellect. 
She is now on her way to posterity, with claims such as few pos- 
sess, and such as never existed before her time. Hers is a ce- 
lebrity which owes nothing to favour or intrigue ; — it is the true 
and legitimate daughter of genius. In her were combined, with 
the most extraordinary gifts of intellect, a love of good, a hor- 
ror of falsehood, and an assemblage of generous feelings, which 
show that in her mind nature had placed all the endowments of 
a man and all the gentle virtues of a woman. 

Anne Louise Germaine Necker was born at Paris, on the 22nd 
of April 1766. Her father was then resident minister of the 
Genevese republic, and not a clerk in the house of Hutusson, as 
some have asserted. Her mother undertook her education, but 
on a wrong system ; and it is a wonder that the power and elas- 
ticity of lier mind were not destroyed by the bigoted and ill- 




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' y'ri?7ji^ ^/i€ {A^.m/z/ A^'M^'/^ Aaf^^i'/if'd'(^^ AA:^^■/^.■ 

ZimiJcni fi^hhs^d (n/ ^iilLik^ C/rurlan zG Holies, St. Cui'eml'j'i Si/uart', 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 135 

judged severity tlirown over her young years. It may truly be 
said that Madame Necker was unable to appreciate her daughter. 

fAfflicted with a disorder which rendered her morose and peevish, 
she was ever occupied in checking the exuberant joy of child- 
hood ; and never did she confer the delight of an approving 
word or look. ^ Instead of that gentleness of manner which 
always wins the heart of a child, she never spoke but to com- 
plain or upbraid.V U,nder such a system, the affectionate nature 
of the poor girl, finding no sympathy in her mother, turned 
naturally to her father, and. here began that devoted filial ten- 
derness which ended but with her lifeX M. Necker was a man 
of talent, though at an immeasurable distance below his daugh- 
ter ; able therefore to comprehend the powers of her mind, 
he immediately freed her from the icy restraint which had 
hitherto been imposed upon all her actions, and resolved that 
nothing should be left undone to make her that which she pro- 
mised to become. He directed her education upon this idea, 
and found the task easy, because her extreme affection for him 
made her consider a compliance with his wishes the most pleasing 
of duties. She was scarcely ten years of age when she gave a 
singular instance of this feeling. 

_^^-M. Necker had a deep veneration for Gibbon,^ the celebrated 
English historian, and took great delight in his conversation. 
To obtain for her father the enjoyment of Gibbon's society when- 
ever he pleased, she seriously proposed marrying this writer, 
whose personal attractions were anything but calculated to strike 
the fancy of a young girl. 

It has been said of Madame de Stael that she was always 
young, though she had never been a child. Her favourite di- 
version, during her early years, was to cut cards into human 
figures, dress them up, and make them perform plays of her own 
composition. Madame Necker, who was a rigid puritan in her 
protestantism, strictly prohibited this amusement, and the poor 
child never indulged in it except in trembling, and under her 
father's sanction and protection. Had the mother's opinions 



136 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

prevailed, Mademoiselle Necker Avoiild liave been constantly 
at her elbow, under an influence whicli must ultimately have 
destroyed her young mind, and made her grow up into a 
mere common-place woman. I have known many visitors at 
her father"'s, who recollect her seated on a little stool by 
her mother's side, receiving incessant injunctions to sit upright.^ 
Many of the celebrated writers of the day were constant at- 
tendants at Madame Necker's pai-ties, and among the most 
assiduous were Thomas, the Abbe Raynal, Grimm, and Mar- 
montel. All these distinguished men found a congenial spirit 
in Mademoiselle Necker, and took great delight in conversing 
with her. These conversations, as she has since observed, were, 
like her studies, an exercise and development of her intel- 
lect. When she was scarcely fifteen, she made extracts from 
Montesquieu's " Esprit des Lois,'' and added notes, with ex- 
tremely judicious and original remarks. The Abbe Ra}iial was 
so pleased with this specimen of her powers, that he proposed 
she shoidd vTite, for a gTcat work in which he was then engaged, 
a paper on the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. But she 
was diffident of her ability to do justice to the subject, and 
therefore declined the task. 

Mademoiselle Necker had a noble and generous heart, and 
in after life showed, that when a good action was to be per- 
formed, A?hen a friend, or even an enemy was to be saved, her 
soul could attain the magnanimity of a heroine. She was natu- 
rally liable to impressions, and unable to conceal her first feel- 
ings ; and though her expressions were never unkind or offen- 
sive, this candom- made her a great many enemies among persons 
of inferior mind. When she read works of fiction, they often 
produced an effect upon her which, though whimsical enough, 
may easily be accounted for in a girl of strong and glowing 
imagination. She used to identify herself with the heroine of 
the tale she was reading : I have often heard her say, that the 
abduction of Clarissa Harlowe was one of the most remarkable 
events of her youth. Her intense application to study, and 



ANNE LOUISE GEIIMAINE NECKEIl, 137 

the precocious development her mind had acquired, at length 
affected her health so seriously, that her father was alarmed. 
Dr. Tronchin advised change of air, and told her parents that 
if they would preserve her life, they must make her forego all 
serious study, and lead the life of a country girl. She was 
accordingly sent to the delightful solitude of St. Ouen, whither 
her father often went to see her. Madame Necker, however, 
to whom a town life with a numerous society around her was, in 
spite of her austerity, the only one congenial to her feelings — 
and it must be confessed, that she had founded upon it her 
hopes of an eligible match for her daughter — now gave up all 
concern in Mademoiselle Necker's education, and never once 
visited her in her retirement. M. Necker supplied her place, 
and fully consoled his daughter for this seeming indifference. 
During Mademoiselle Necker's residence at St. Ouen, her love 
and admiration of her father increased to a pitch of enthusiasm 
which, in her appreciation of his talents at a later period of her 
life, may be said to have blinded her judgment. Yet there 
was nothing of mildness in M. Necker's manners, which were 
stiff and unbending as those of a man wholly taken up with his 
own merits ; and he had adopted a tone of almost constant 
raillery towards his daughter, for whose slightest defects he Avas 
continually on the watch. 

"i He unmasked all affectation in me,'' she used to say ; " and 
it was from him that I acquired a habit of thinking that every- 
body could read my heart." 

When, in 1789, M. Necker published his famous " Compte 
Rendu,"" a work which placed him, according to some, in the 
highest rank as a statesman, and below mediocrity, according 
to others, Madame de Stael was anxious to offer him some 
observations on it ; but not daring to begin a conversation 
on such a topic, she wrote him an anonymous letter. The 
style betrayed the writer, and- M. Necker, transported with 
joy at her profound knowledge of a subject so far beyond the 
scope of ordinary female understandings, henceforward evinced 



138 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

nil extreme affection for her, and placed in her the most un- 
bounded confidence. This was not looked upon by Madame 
Necker with an eye of kindness ; and her extreme sensitiveness to 
any participation in her husband''s confidence, produced the most 
unnatural jealousy of her daughter. Though Madame Necker 
was blindly devoted to her husband, even to the indulgence of 
his very whims, her peevishness and strange fancies by no means 
enhanced the comforts of his domestic life ; and when she ap- 
peared before him like a mere shadow of her he had once loved, 
it was to remind him that it was his duty to love her still. But 
she had nothing of that which inspires confidence ; still less any 
of the charm that attracts it. Her daughter, on the contrary, 
\ms wholly made up of this charm ; confidence in her flowed 
spontaneously, and she became to her father what Madame 
Necker had never been — an affectionate friend upon whose 
judgment he could rely. 

Mademoiselle Necker was heir to immense wealth ; her father 
was a minister of state, and in a situation to dictate his will with 
regard to a son-in-law; she was, therefore, according to the 
general opinion, likely to obtain one of the best matches in the 
kingdom. Nevertheless, she had reached her twentieth year 
before any serious thoughts were entertained on the subject. 
The unfortunate Marie Antoinette, wife of Louis XVI, mainly 
contributed to bring about her union with the Baron de Stael 
Holstein, then Swedish ambassador to the court of France. He 
was a great favourite A^ith the Queen, who was anxious to pro- 
mote his interests. M. de Stael was young, and remarkably 
handsome ; his mind was cultivated, his manners elegant, but 
he had little or no fortune. Marie Antoinette well knew that 
M. Necker would with difficulty consent to his wealth passing 
into the hands of a Catholic, a reason which had hitherto de- 
terred him from looking for a son-in-law among the nobles of 
France. M. de Stael was a Lutheran, and moreover had always 
shown a strong predilection for the notions of freedom then pre- 
valent. These were powerful reconmiendations to M. Necker, 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 139 

and lie readily consented to tlie marriage, stipulating as a con- 
dition, wlucli Marie Antoinette easily obtained from Gusta- 
vus III, that M. de Stael should permanently retain the office 
of Swedish ambassador in France. 

When the Baron de Stael Holstein married Mademoiselle 
Necker, he was chamberlain to the Queen of Sweden, and 
^ Knight of the Tower and Sword, a distinction seldom granted 
except for military services. He had first been sent to Paris 
as councillor of embassy, and was appointed ambassador in 
1783. Having connected himself with the philosophic party, 
who were then preparing the movement which, like an earth- 
quake, afterwards convulsed the kingdom of France, and ulti- 
mately the whole of Europe, he became acquainted, through 
this channel, with M. Necker and his daughter. The "destiny 
of the Genevese minister at that period seemed to justify the 
most brilliant expectations ; nevertheless the political horizon was 
beginning to be overcast. At length the storm burst, and 
the Baron de Stael, though of the same opinion as most of 
the leading men of the day, was forced to quit Paris. The 
reader must refer to Madame de StaeFs work entitled " Con- 
siderations sur la Revolution Fran^aise"' for the particulars 
of this departure, described with a graphic power of touch un- 
equalled by any writer. M. and Madame de Stael set out 
on the 2nd of September, of execrable memory. To go 
through Paris with greater safety, Madame de Stael had her 
servants dressed in full liveries, and six horses put to her 
own carriage, as if for a state visit. Such a thing might 
have succeeded in peaceable times, when the proprieties of 
social life were still respected ; but on a day Avhen the populace 
of Paris had assumed the ferocity of wild beasts, when anarchy 
and murder stalked with reeking arms through the public streets, 
such an ill-judged display could only lead to danger. The car- 
riage of the Swedish ambassadress- was stopped, and taken to the 
Hotel-de-Ville, where Manuel, whose assistance she claimed, 
proved very useful to her. But the person who did her an im- 



140 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

portant service, by getting her out of the difficulty into which 
she had brought herself, was Santerre — and she always took a 
pleasure in rendering him justice. 

'fFrom the window of the closet in which I was confined," 
she says in her work on the French Revolution, " I saw a tall 
man on the top of my carriage, addressing the mob. This was 
Santerre." 

M. de Stael was sent back to France by his government, and 
arrived at Paris soon after the death of Louis XVI. He was 
the only ambassador from a cro^vned head to the new^ republic ; 
but he found the state of the country so awful that he hastened 
back to Sweden. Madame de StaeFs old friends and his own 
were either dead or in exile, and the veil of terrorism was thro^Mi 
over the nation. The Conventional Government had set up a 
monster under the name of Freedom, whose temple it was build- 
ing with the ruins of the social state, cemented with the best 
blood of the citizens. Robespierre, St. Just, and ' Couthon, 
were rolling the guillotine along the highways, mowing down 
every head w^hich talents or virtue had elevated above the level 
of the multitude. 

The Swedish ambassador fled in horror and consternation, 
without daring to look behind him, taking with him a treaty 
between France and Sweden, drawn up by the Convention, but 
couched in such novel and uncouth terms that the Regent of 
Sweden refused to ratify it. After the fall of RobespierrCy 
the Duke of Sudermania, thinking he might trust the new 
government, again sent M. de Stael to Paris to negotiate a 
treaty of alliance between the two countries. Thus was the 
Baron again the only representative of a monarchy sent to the 
French Republic. The ceremonial of treating with an ambas- 
sador, at first embarrassing to the new rulers of France, was 
at length satisfactorily arranged. On a report being made to 
the convention by Merlin, it was determined that M. de Stael, 
as the representative of a foreign government, should have a 
chair facing the President of that assembly, and speak sitting. 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 141 

Tliis was carried into execution on tlie 22nd of April 1797. 
The ambassador having received a fraternal embrace from the 
President, both made a speech, which was then not only the 
fashion, but a matter of obligation. 

" I come from the King of Sweden,^' said the Baron de 
Stael, " to the representatives of the French nation, for the pur- 
pose of doing homage to the imprescriptible rights of man."" 

From that day a tribune was prepared for the ambassador, in 
order that he might continue to attend the sittings of the assem- 
bly, which he did very regularly, alternately receiving compli- 
ments and abuse. One day, the Deputy Legendre uttered 
the coarsest invectives against Madame de Stael ; at another 
time, the Baron received the thanks of the Convention for 
the firmness he had displayed on the 2nd and 3rd of PrairiaJ 
(June 1795), when the assembly was attacked by the fau- 
bourgs. M. de Stael continued to attend the sittings of the 
Directory, as he had done those of the Convention ; and his wife, 
whose universe was the city of her birth, was able to reside there 
with a sort of security. She was, at this time, the life and soul 
of the small remnant of good society which the Revolution had 
spared ; and her drawing-room was open to all who had crossed 
the torrent in safety. Always fond of society, and in want 
of those encounters of intellect in which hers was re-tempered 
by throwing a new light upon that of others, she endeavoured 
to attract to her parties all the celebrated individuals of the pe- 
riod, no matter what their political opinions. In a short time 
she exercised great influence over Barras and the whole Direc- 
tory. She had long since applied her mind to politics, and her 
constant intimacy with the most influential political men had 
given her a deep insight into the state of France. The correct- 
ness of her judgment, and her keen powers of perception, had 
given her a political foresight scarcely equalled except by Mira- 
beau. She never failed in her prognostics of events, because she 
was unbiassed ; in her judgment of persons, she was often blinded 
by private feelings. Before the fatal 10th of August she fore- 



142 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

told what v;onkI happen, and formed a plan to save Louis XVI. 
Its not being carried into effect Y^'as owing to M. de Montmorin, 
then Minister of Foreign Affairs, not having communicated it 
to the King.^ 

When the Directory was established, Madame de Stael had 
already distinguished herself by some very pow^erful political 
■writings. The first w^as a pamphlet in defence of the unhappy 
c[ueen, Marie-Antoinette ; it w^as bold, and forcible, and worthy 
of a mind like hers. Though no flatterer of popular tyranny, 
she felt that, to plead this cause with any hope of success, 
she must in some degree truckle to the sovereign people. 
Her work is a master-piece of skill, and far exceeded the ex- 
pectations of even her most enthusiastic admirers. She made 
no allusion to the rank of the illustrious accused — she said 
nothing about her being the queen of a great people, or a daugh- 
ter of the Csssars ; — slie felt that she must not talk to the men 
with blood-stained hands, of a head too sacred to fall by their axe : 
lier task was to move and persuade, and not to demand respect 
from those who knew not what respect was. She therefore over- 
looked the queen, to speak only of the tender mother, the kind 
friend, the good and amiable woman. This pamphlet is remark- 
able for its energy and sensibility ; and it constitutes a monu- 
ment wdiich Madame de Stael has raised to the glory of her sex. 

She next published two papers of very extraordinary power : 
the first entitled " Reflexions sur la Paix interieure,"'' the other 
" Reflexions addressees a M. Pitt et aux Fran^ais."" Fox, w^ho 
had a kindred mind, highly praised the latter work. 

Soon after her intimacy w^ith Barras, she perceived that the 
Directory could not long maintain its power. A system of cor- 
ruption was pursued, which not only w^eakened it but brought it 
into contempt. Anticipating therefore a change, and considering 
perhaps that it was better to put up with an evil the extent of 
which was know^n, than to run the risk of a change which might 
be greatly for the w^orse, she became a political partisan, and 
regularly attended meetings held at the Hotel de Salm, under 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 143 

the name of tlie Constitutional Circle, in opposition to another 
political society established at Clichy. Benjamin Constant, who 
has since become so celebrated as a writer and legislator, was one 
of the best speakers at the Constitutional Circle. Madame de 
StaeFs connexion with this society led to the saying, " that in 
spite of herself she had become a supporter of the Directory, 
which she despised."" 
.--With Madame de Stael, friendship was a part of religion ; and 
to serve or save her friends at all risks, was to her a sacred duty 
which she always fulfilled. On the establishment of the Direc- 
torial government, M. de Talleyrand was in America, and very 
deficient in those means of comfort which could alone induce 
him to support his exile with patience. Madame de Stael ob- 
tained his recall, and presented him at the Directorial court, 
where he soon made his way with Barras. Thibaudeau, a writer 
of strict veracity, says in his memoirs ; 

^^ " M. de Talleyrand returned from the United States without 
money, and greatly in want of a refit. A woman celebrated by 
her talents, introduced him to the intimacy of Barras.*'' 

In Collier's memoirs, it is also stated : " The ex-bishop of 
Autun had just been brought into the ministry of Foreign 
affairs by Necker's daughter."" 

Benjamin Constant likewise, in a work published since his 
death, mentions the particulars of M. de Talleyrand's recall from 
America, and the obligations he was under to Madame de Stael. 
These obligations ought never to have been forgotten. 

After the 18th of Brumaire, Madame de Stael, like every 
other person, looked upon the rising star of Napoleon's great- 
ness as likely to dissipate, by its brightness, the lowering clouds 
still hanging over revolutionized France. The influence exer- 
cised by Bonaparte acted upon her as it did upon the whole 
nation, and she saw only a hero in the man who was after- 
wards to appear to her as an enemy and a tyrant.^ She then 
joined in the general admiration, and I can aver, because I know 
it to be a fact, that she had a strong and kindly feeling towards 



144 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

tlic First ConsuL This feeling was, however, soon effaced; 
dislike succeeded goodwill, and the bitterest animosity was 
ultimately kindled between the First Consul and Madame de 
Stael. 

Joseph Bonaparte, who had a sincere friendship for her, warned 
her of the danger she incurred from expressing her feelings so 
openly and so bitterly as she did, in her own drawing-room. 

" You submit your claims to the government,'' said he, 
" and then you gossip about all its members and turn them into 
ridicule. This is not the way to obtain what you want/' 

" That is the very reason," Madame de Stael replied, " why, 
in my conversations, I never state what I wish to obtain, but 
only what 1 think.'''' 

The police, always ready to notice even that with which it has 
no concern, at length took upon itself to find fault with Ma- 
dam.e de Stael's frequent journeys to Coppet to see her father. 
Fouche cited her to appear before him, that he might remon- 
strate with her. A short time after Regnault de St. Jean 
d'Angely intimated to her that she was in danger; and this 
statesman, who, though zealously devoted to Bonaparte, was 
anxious that he should not tarnish his fame by persecuting a 
woman, procured her a place of concealment at a country-house 
belonging to one of his female relatives. The time she spent 
here was one of alarm and dread. Every night she would leave 
her bed and take her station at the window to watch for the 
gendarmes, who, she thought, were coming to arrest her. She 
next went to St. Brice, and remained a short time Avith Madame 
Recamier, whose benevolent heart was ever ready to assist a 
friend in distress. From St. Brice she retired to a small house 
which she had hired, at about ten leagues from Paris. The 
Commandant of gendarmerie at Versailles here brought her an 
order to quit the neighbourhood, and not come within forty 
leagues of the metropolis. General Junot, who had a great 
regard for Madame de Stael, spoke in her favour with a force 
that ought to have made some impression. But Napoleon was 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 145 

inexorable. The gates of Paris being shut against her, she 
determined to visit Germany. During this tour she studied 
the German language, and went through a course of its beautiful 
literature with Goethe, From Weimar she went to Berlin, 
where she was kindly received by all the royal family, and 
became intimate with Prince Louis of Prussia, whose mind 
could fully appreciate hers. 

Before she set out for Germany, she spent some months with 
her father at Coppet. Here it was that this admirable woman, 
distinguished by talents which placed her in the highest rank of 
the literature of her age, displayed all the kindness of her nature. 
Her widowed father had retained many of the whims, rather than 
habits, of his past life. These she religiously respected, and even 
encouraged, whenever by doing so she could afford him a 
pleasurable moment ; and her strong and unbending mind would 
now relax to give her aged parent the gratification of an imagined 
superiority. Every morning at breakfast she would start some 
literary or political topic, and allow him to have the best of the 
argument, but without, however, giving him a too easy victory. 
Such a means of gratifying a beloved father could have entered 
none but a woman's mind. 

During her stay at Coppet, M. de Talleyrand, forgetful 
of the services she had rendered him, severed the bond of 
friendship which had existed between them. As she kept no 
measure with the head of the state, he perhaps considered it 
good policy to come to a rupture with a woman who might 
involve him in difficulties. He chose the safer side no doubt, 
but was it the most generous ? About this period, 1803, the 
Baron de Stael died, at an inn at Poligny. His wife was with 
him at the time, and he breathed his last sigh in her arms. 

Madame de Stael, tired of her long struggle against Napoleon, 
settled at Coppet on her return from Germany, and devoted her 
time wholly to literary pursuits. • Here she wrote " Delphine." 
It is said that, in this work, she drew her own character ; the 
reality of her youth as " Corinne'" was the ideal. Her father 

L 



146 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

died soon after. This was a dreadful blow, for she loved him 
with a fondness of which there are few examples. After his 
death, she went to Italy, where she wrote " Corinne,^'' in w^hich 
she paints with beautiful and soul-stirring energy the workings of 
a noble and enthusiastic mind, withered in its dearest hopes, 
and yet gentle and benevolent even in its despair. During 
the leisure of her exile, she wrote, besides the works I have 
mentioned, one upon Germany, which, on her return to France 
in 1810, had an extraordinary and well-deserved success. From 
this latter period, France was entirely closed against her, and it 
was also from this period that she encountered her greatest 
calamities, and perhaps also her best consolation. 

Being at Geneva, she there became acquainted with M. de 
Rocca, a young Genevese officer, who had returned di*eadfully 
wounded, and with a ruined constitution, from the peninsular 
campaigns. This young man, a nephew of the celebrated Dr. 
Butini, was an object of great interest at Geneva, and Madame 
de Stael had heard much of him fi-om the friends who visited her 
at Coppet. When she first beheld him tottering through the 
streets, scarcely able to drag his trembling limbs along, and 
remarked his emaciated frame and his pale sallow cheek, forming 
so cruel a contrast with his youth, her heart was filled with pity. 
When he was introduced to her, she said a few kind and con- 
soling words ; they reached the young man's heart. Being 
himself a man of superior intellect, he was struck with a profound 
admiration of Madame de Stael, which soon ripened into so deep 
and absorbing a passion that his friends were alarmed. They 
tried to reason him out of it, but in vain. 

" She is old enough to be your mother," said one of them. 
^_" True," M. de Rocca replied; "and I am glad you have 
pointed out to me another mode of loving her. I was already 
devoted to her as the woman possessed of all that is worth 
loving ; but you now show me that I must love her as the 
being most worthy of respect. Thus am I doubly bound to 
love her." 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 147 

To another friend, who spoke to him in the same strain, 
he said : — 

" She must love me, and her love will be lasting ; for I will 
prove toiler that there are spring mornings at every age ; and I 
will love her so dearly that she will marry me.'^ 

He had judged rightly. His attachment to her won a return 
of affection; so true is it that the most powerful advocate in the 
heart of a woman is the love she inspires. Madame de Stael 
did marry him, and their union was marked by a strength and 
permanence of affection seldom witnessed between persons so 
different in age. For the first time, Madame de Stael was loved 
in the manner she had dreamed of when she wrote " Corinne." 
Her mind was fully understood, and could at length utter sounds 
which vibrated not in solitude. She had now a kindred soul 
into which she could pour the breathings of her own and find an 
echo. During the days which nature had marked out for the 
close of her existence, she enjoyed a purity of happiness which 
made her cling to life. It often happens thus. 

The marriage was solemnized in private, in order that M. de 
Rocca might not incur Napoleon's anger. An only son was the 
fruit of this union. Soon after it took place, Madame de Stael 
was again forced to become a wanderer ; for her exile was now 
extended to every territory under the influence or protection of 
Napoleon's government. She first went to Austria ; but, disliking 
the spirit which prevailed in that country, she proceeded to 
Russia. Having there discovered that the hatred borne to the 
Emperor of the French extended to every native of France, 
even to Napoleon's very victims, she went to Sweden, where 
she was received by the Prince Royal with the most flattering- 
marks of distinction. But a dreadful affliction awaited her in 
this northern land, " where," as she used to say, " misfortune 
had fixed its permanent dwelling." Her son Albert, whom the 
Prince Royal had appointed his aide-de-camp, was killed in a 
duel. She fled in dismay from this country of sorrow, and 
sought refuge in England, where she remained till the capture 



148 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

of Paris by tlie Allies. She was in tMs city when Napoleon 
returned from Elba, and left it in great haste. The Emperor 
sent to recall her, but she refused to return. After the battle 
of Waterloo, she again took up her residence in her native city, 
and obtained from Louis XVIII. the payment of two millions -:r^ 
of francs due to her father. 

When I again saw her at Paris, immediately after the resto- 
ration, I found her the same kind and benevolent creatm-e she 
had ever been, and with the powers of her genius imimpaired. 
According to her former custom, she received as her guests 
persons belonging to all parties, without reference to their poli- 
tical opinions. One evening when her drawing-room was un- 
usually crowded, she suddenly laughed, and addressing some 
one near her, 

" Really,*' she observed, " my drawing-room is like a military 
hospital; here you find the wounded of both parties.'' And this 
was literally the case. 

Very soon after her retm-n to Paris, she became an altered 
woman. The sight of her old friends had no longer the power of 
exciting her mind ; that brilliant wit, and those bright flashes- of 
intellect which formed the delis^ht of an admirino' circle, now 
gave way to a settled gloom. Her heart seemed care-worn, 
her body suffering. A deep feeling preyed upon her mind, 
which in a woman of her age was likely to produce dreadful 
ravages upon her constitution. Her fears had been awakened 
for her husband's life : his health, always feeble since she had 
known him, had become much worse, and justified her appre- 
hensions. To part with him seemed beyond her strength. She 
loved him as a part of herself; and aU her thoughts, nay, the 
very powers of her mind, were linked to his flickering existence. 
He alone had realized, by his affection and congeniality of soul, 
the day-cbeams of her youth, — he alone had fully understood 
her nature. The idea of losing him wrought so powerfully upon 
her feelings, that it became like a gnawing worm which gradually 
impaired her intellect. For some tune past she had sought 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 149 

relief and excitement from the use of opium ; the reaction pro- 
duced by this pernicious drug led to increased doses, until she 
had brought herself to take it in immoderate quantities. This 
entirely broke up her constitution, and she was spared the afflic- 
tion of surviving her husband. 

In 1816, she was attacked with general uneasiness of body 
and a sensible prostration of strength. She went to Italy and 
remained several months at Pisa, where she got better ; but on 
her return to France the complaint revived, and the symptoms 
soon became dangerous. Dr. Portal was called in, and with 
him the most able physicians at Paris ; but the resources of 
art were unavailing. She died on the 14th of July 1817, 
deeply lamented by her family and friends, as well as by all 
who, without being personally known to her, admired her worth 
and talents. Her death caused a general mourning, and though 
at that time I was in Italy, I well know how much she was 
regretted. A few minutes before she expired, she said to 
those around her : — 

i'j,! think I know what the passage is from this life to another ; 
and I feel convinced that God, in his goodness, softens it for us. 
Our intellect becomes troubled, and the pain is not very great."'^; 

"(My father is waiting for me," she exclaimed soon after in 
a strong voice, " my father is waiting for me — there — he is 
calling me !^;.; 

It has been remarked that she died on the anniversary of that 
day when the first sound of the bell was heard calling the French 
people to freedom. She had only just entered her fifty-second 
year, and, had she lived, might have enlightened the world for 
many years longer with the splendour of her genius. 

Madame de Stael was graceful in all her motions. Her 
countenance, without any beauty of feature, at first attracted, 
and then fixed the attention ; for it was the book of her mind in 
which every one could read — an advantage rarely possessed. On 
looking at it, there suddenly appeared to flash over her features 
a sort of intellectual loveliness, ■ if I may so term it ; and her 



150 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

eyes, whicli were large and beautiful, beamed with genius. 
When she spoke, her look became animated, and imparted extra- 
ordinary power to the words she uttered. Her figure was rather 
large, and her attitudes well designed, though natural, and 
wholly free from affectation, which she abhorred. This gave a 
dramatic effect to all she said, and it was increased by her style 
of dress, which was exceedingly picturesque, and quite uncon- 
nected with the fashion of the day. Her hands and arms were 
of exquisite form and dazzling whiteness, which enhanced the 
striking character , of her general appearance. / 1 have never 
heard words uttered which acted upon me so powerfully as 
those of Madame de Stael ; for besides being attended with 
the personal advantages I have described, they had a force of 
reason that was unanswerable ^i 

People have talked much and variously of the cause of Napo- 
leon''s aversion to Madame de Stael ; and it is but justice to 
observe that in the opinions which she gave of the Emperor, she 
was by no means impartial. Napoleon, however, is inexcusable 
for his persecution of her ; a woman should always be respected 
when she struggles single-handed against power. ♦ 

Madame de Stael's works form eighteen octavo volumes, and 
consist of various kinds of writing. She was only fifteen when 
she composed her tragedy of " Lady Jane Grey." 

" Her youth,"" she said, " encouraged mine."'' 

This piece is but indifferent ; the versification is bad, and the 
whole is wanting in local character and appropriateness. She 
afterwards wrote a drama in three acts entitled, " Sophie ou les 
Sentimens secrets ;" but it was unsuccessfid, and her friends 
advised her to abandon dramatic writing, in which she would 
never have excelled, although there is an extraordinary dramatic 
effect in the style and thought of her other writings. Her next 
work was " Lettres sur Jean Jacques Rousseau ;'*'' then followed 
" Influence des Passions,"' published in 1786 ; " Reflexions a 
M. Pitt et aux Fran(;ais,'' 1794; " De la Litterature consideree 
dans scs rapports avcc Ics institutions sociales,'' 2 vols. 1800 ; 



ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER. 151 

" Du caractere de M. Necker et de sa vie privee,""' 1804 ; 
"Delphine," 6 vols. 1804; " Corinne," 2 vols. 1806; "Work 
on Germany," 1815 ; " Dix annees d'Exil," 1816 ; and " Con- 
siderations sur la Revolution Fran^aise,'" 1817. 

It is especially tkis last work wliicli raises Madame de Stael 
to tlie highest eminence as a writer. Neither Burke, nor Bonald, 
nor Mallet-Dupan, nor in short any of the master-minds who 
have treated of the events of the French Revolution, have ap- 
proached the noble energy of Madame de StaeFs style, nor her 
vigour of thought. Her book is filled with striking truths and 
unanswerable inferences, the whole blended with an earnestness 
of conviction, which steals upon the heart of the most prejudiced. 
Her judgment on events is always correct ; the blemish of her 
work is the judgment she passes upon men. Here the impres- 
sibility of her mind is apparent, and she shows but too plainly 
the influence of personal feelings. But even when she errs, she 
is sublime. How eloquent is her indignation, how galling her 
censure ; — with what force does she fathom the depths into which 
the jarring ambitions of men had plunged the French nation, and 
expose and brand those human monsters who sent a reeking 
phantom through the land, under the name of Liberty ! Though 
this book is only a sketch — like a cartoon of Raphael, it is the 
sketch of a great master. There is no affected display of elegant 
writing, no attempt at useless declamation ; her whole soul is 
absorbed in her subject, and if her words flow sweet and har- 
monious, it is from the spontaneous workings of her heart, and not 
frdm any study to make them so. The " Considerations sur la 
Revolution Fran^aise," is a work read by many, though scarcely 
appreciated at its full worth ; but the time will come when Ma- 
dame de Stael will be placed at the head of every contemporary 
writer of her own class. She was to the nineteenth century, 
what Montesquieu\was to the eighteenth ; both perhaps wandered 
a little out of their path, but both will be consulted whenever 
it is required to consolidate or improve public institutions. 

Madame de Stael at her death had only two children alive : 



152 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

her eldest son, the Baron de Stael, and the present Duchess de 
Broglie. The former, whilst still young, and soon after the 
happiness of a very interesting woman had been entrusted to 
his care, died in Switzerland ; so that Madame de Broglie, who 
bears a striking resemblance to her mother both in character 
and talent, is at present the only survivor of the family. 

The manner in which M. de Rocca mourned for the loss of 
the woman he so tenderly loved, is a striking j)roof of her amiable 
qualities. Heart-broken and inconsolable grief, rather than the 
progress of his disease, hurried him to a premature grave, just 
six months after his separation from her. He died at Hieres in 
Provence, on the 29th of January 1817, having on that day 
entered his thii'ty-first year.^ 



' Gibbon had once been fondly attached to Madame Necker, while she 
was yet single. The tale of his hopeless love is well known. It was, however, 
a fortunate thing for Gibbon that she preferred his rival. 

^ In a biography of Madame de Stael, it is stated thatM, de Montmorin 
refused to adopt this plan, because its execution was to have been entrusted 
to Count Louis de Narbonne, whose excessive thoughtlessness raised such 
apprehensions in Montmorin's mind, that he would not hear of his having 
any thing to do with it. This is extremely unjust, and it ill became M. de 
Montmorin to pass so severe a judgment. Count Louis de Narbonne might 
have been thoughtless at five-and-twenty, and in his connexion with polite 
society as constituted during the last gleam of sunshine that fell upon the 
French monarchy ; but I never knew a man with a more noble mind or more 
capable of doing justice to any thing he undertook. 

' I have positively seen, and held in my hand, letters from Madame de 
Stael to the First Consul, in which her admiration of him is warmly and 
unequivocally expressed. At a later period, the Emperor said he only feared 
her because she was very susceptible of impressions, which she communicated 
to those who frequented her drawing-room. The Emperor was very severe, 
but there was a great deal of truth in his remark. 

* M. de Rocca's Works are : " Memoire sur la Guerre des Francais en 
Espagne," and " Campagne de W^alcheren et d'Anvers en 1809.'' He also 
left a posthumous work entitled, " Le mal du Pays,'' which he was about 
to publish when he died. 




VJh. 



^ / /f ] iJ//rj/i 



^SMAiaiL^l'TS (SemBi^T. 






■^-^. 



m 



153 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 

Had Charlotte Corday lived in the days of the Greek or 
Roman republics, the action which has given celebrity to her 
name, would have elevated her memory to the highest rank of 
civic virtue. The Christian moralist judges of such deeds by a 
different standard. The meek spirit of the Saviour's religion 
raises its voice against murder of every denomination, leaving to 
Divine Providence the infliction of its will upon men like Marat, 
whom, for wise and inscrutable purposes, it sends, from time to 
time, as ^courges/ upon earth. In the present instance, Charlotte 
Corday anticipated the course of nature but a few weeks, per- 
haps only a few days ; for Marat, when she killed him, was 
already stricken with mortal disease. Fully admitting, as I sin- 
cerely do, the Christian precept in its most comprehensive sense, 
I am bound to say, nevertheless, that Charlotte Corday's error 
arose from the noblest and most exalted feelings of the " human 
heart ; that she deliberately sacrificed her life to the purest love 
of her country, unsullied by private feelings of any kind ; and 
that having expiated her error by a public execution, the motive 
by which she was actuated, and the lofty heroism she displayed, 
entitle her to the admiration of posterity. 

Marie Adelaide Charlotte, daughter of Jean Francois Corday 
d'Armans, and Charlotte Godier, his wife, was born in 1768, at 
St. Saturnin, near Seez, in Normandy. Her family belonged to 
the Norman nobility, of which it was not one of the least ancient, 
and she was descended, on the female side, from the great Cor- 
neille. She was educated at the Abbey of the Holy Trinity at 
Caen, and from her earliest youth evinced superior intellectual 
endowments. 

From a peculiar bent of mind very uncommon in females, es- 
pecially at that period, Charlotte Corday devoted herself to the 



154 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

study of politics and tlie theory of government. Strongly tinc- 
tiu*ed Avitli the philosophy of the last century, and deeply read in 
ancient history, she had formed notions of pure republicanism 
which she hoped to see realised in her own country. A friend at 
first to the revolution, she exulted in the opening dawn of 
freedom ; but when she saw this dawn overcast by the want of 
energy of the Gn-ondins, the mean and unprincipled conduct of 
the Feuillans, and the sanguinary ferocity of the Mountain 
party/ she thought only of the means of averting the calamities 
which threatened again to enslave the French people. 

On the overthrow of the Gii'ondins and their expulsion from 
the Convention, Charlotte Corday was residing at Caen, wdth her 
relation Madame de Broteville. She had always been an en- 
thusiastic admirer of the federal principles of this party, so 
eloquently developed in their writings, and had looked up to 
them as the saviours of France. She was therefore not pre- 
pared for the w^eakness, and even pusillanimity which they after- 
wards displayed. 

The Girondist representatives sought refuge in the department 
of Calvados, where they called upon every patriot to take up 
arms in defence of freedom. On their approach to Caen, 
Charlotte Corday, at the head of the young girls of that city, 
bearing crowns and flowers, went out to meet them. The civic 
crown was presented to Lanjuinais, and Charlotte herself placed 
it upon his head, a circumstance which must constitute not the 
least interesting recollection of Lanjuinais' life.' 
. Marat was, at this period, the ostensible chief of the Mountain 
party, and the most sanguinary of its members. He was a 
monster of hideous deformity both in mind and person ; his lank 
and distorted features covered with leprosy, and his vulgar and 
ferocious leer, were a true index of the passions which worked in 
his odious mind. A series of unparalleled atrocities had raised 
him to the highest power wdth his party ; and though he pro- 
fessed to be merely passive in the revolutionary government, his 
word was law with the Convention, and his fiat irrevocable. 
In every thing relating to the acquisition of wealth, he was in- 



CHARLOTTE CORD AY. 155 

corruptible, and even gloried in his poverty. But the immense 
influence he had acquired, turned his brain, and he gave full range 
to the evil propensities of his nature, now unchecked by any au- 
thority. He had formed principles of political faith in which, per- 
haps, he sincerely believed, but" which were founded upon his in- 
herent love of blood, and his hatred of every human being who 
evinced talents or virtue above his fellow-men. The guillotine 
was not only the altar of the distorted thing he worshipped under 
the name of Liberty, but it was also the instrument of his plea- 
sures : for his highest gratification was the wri things of the victim 
who fell under its axe. Even Robespierre attempted to check 
this unquenchable thirst of human blood, but in vain : opposition 
only excited Marat to greater atrocities. With rage depicted 
in his livid features, and with the howl of a demoniac, he 
would loudly declare that rivers of blood could alone purify the 
land, and must therefore flow. In his paper entitled " L'Ami du 
Peuple," he denounced all those whom he had doomed to death, 
and the guillotine spared none whom he designated. 

Charlotte Corday having read his assertion in this journal, 
that three hundred thousand heads were requisite to consolidate 
the liberties of the French people, could not contain her feelings. 
Her cheeks flushed with indignation ; 

'f What !" she exclaimed, " is there not in the whole coun- 
try a man bold enough to kill this monster ?''' 

JVIeanwhile, an insurrection against the ruling faction was in 
progress, and the exiled deputies had established a central assem- 
bly at Caen, to direct its operations. Charlotte Corday, accom- 
panied by her father, regularly attended the sittings of this 
assembly, where her striking beauty rendered her the more 
remarkable, because, from the retired life she led, she was pre- 
viously unknown to any of the members. 

Though the eloquence of the Girondins was here powerfully 
displayed, their actions but little corresponded with it. A 
liberating army had been formed in the department, and placed 
under the command of General Eelix Wimpfen. But neither 
this general nor the deputies took any measures worthy of the 

m2 



156 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

cause : tlieir proceedings were spiritless and emasculate, and 
excited, without checking, the faction in power. Marat de- 
nounced the Girondins in his paper, and demanded their death 
as necessary for the safety of the republic. 

Charlotte Corday was deeply afflicted at the nerveless measures 
of the expelled deputies, and imagining that, if she could succeed 
in destroying Marat, the fall of his party must necessarily ensue, 
she determined to offer up her own life for the good of her country. 
She accordingly called on- Barbaroux,}one of the Girondist leaders, 
with whom she was not personally acquainted, and requested a let- 
ter of introduction to M. Duperret, a deputy favourable to the 
Girondins, and then at Paris. Having also requested Barbaroux 
to keep her secret, she wrote to her father, stating, that she had 
resolved to emigrate to England, and had set out privately for 
that country, where alone she could live in safety. 

She arrived at Paris at the beginning of July 1793, and 
immediately called upon M. Duperret. But she found this 
deputy as devoid of energy as of talent, and therefore only 
made use of him to assist her in transacting some private 
business. 

A day or two after her arrival, an incident occurred, which is 
worthy of a place here. 

Being at the Tuileries, she seated herself upon a bench 
in the garden. A little boy, attracted no doubt by the smile 
with which she greeted him, enlisted her as a companion of 
his gambols. Encom-aged by her caresses, he thrust his hand 
into her half-open pocket and drew forth a small pistol. 

" What toy is this ?"' said he. 

" It is a toy," Charlotte replied, " which may prove very 
useful in these times." 

■ - So saying, she quickly concealed the weapon, and looking 
round to see whether she was observed, immediately left the 
garden.^ 

• On the 11th of July, Charlotte Corday attended the sitting of 
the Convention, with a determination to shoot Marat in the 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 157 

midst of the assembly. But he was too ill to leave his house ; 
and she had to listen to a long tirade against the Girondins, 
made by Cambon, in a report on the state of the country. 
. On the 12th, at nine o'clock in the evening, she called on 
M. Prud'homme, a historian of considerable talent and strict 
veracity, with whose writings on the revolution she had been 
much struck. 

" No one properly understands the state of France,''*' said she, 
with the accent of true patriotism ; " your writings alone have 
made impression upon me, and that is the reason why I have 
<;alled upon you. Freedom, as you understand it, is for all con- 
ditions and opinions. You feel, in a word, that you have a 
country. All the other writers on the events of the day are 
partial, and full of empty declamation ; they are wholly guided 
by factions, or, what is worse, by coteries.'*'' 

M. Prud'homme says that, in this interview, Charlotte Corday 
appeared to him a woman of most elevated mind and striking talent. 

The day after this visit, she went to the Palais Royal and 
bought a sharp-pointed carving-knife, with a black sheath. 
On her return to the hotel in which she lodged — Hotel de la 
Providence, Rue des Augustins — she made her preparations for 
the deed she intended to commit next day. Having put her 
papers in order, she placed a certificate of her baptism in a red 
pocket-book, in order to take it with her, and thus establish " 
her identity. This she did because she had resolved to make 
no attempt to escape, and was therefore certain she should leave 
Marat's house for the conciergerie, preparatory to her appearing 
before the revolutionary tribunal. 

Next morning, the 14th, taking with her the knife she had 
purchased, and her red pocket-book, she proceeded to Marat's 
residence, at No. 18, Rue de TEcole de Medecine. The re- 
presentative was ill, and could not be seen, and Charlotte's 
entreaties for admittance on the most urgent business were 
unavailing. She therefore withdrew, and wrote the following 
note, which she herself delivered to Marat's servant. 



158 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

'' Citizen Representative, 

"I am just arrived from Caen. Your well-known patriotism 
leads me to presume that you will be glad to be made acquainted 
with what is passing in that part of the republic. I will call on 
you again in the coiu'se of the day ; have the goodness to give 
orders that I may be admitted, and grant me a few minutes' con- 
versation. I have important secrets to reveal to you. 

" Charlotte Corday.^' 

At seven o'clock in the evening she returned, and reached 
]Maraf s antechamber ; but the woman who waited upon him 
refused to admit her to the monster's presence. Marat, how- 
ever, who was in a bath in the next room, hearing the voice of 
a young girl, and little thinking she had come to deprive him of 
life, ordered that she should be shown in. Charlotte seated 
herself by the side of the bath. The conversation ran upon the 
disturbances in the department of Calvados, and Charlotte, fixing 
her eyes upon Marat's countenance as if to scrutinize his most 
secret thoughts, pronounced the names of several of the Gii'ondist 
deputies. 

" They shall soon be arrested," he cried with a howl of rage, 
" and executed the same day." 

He had scarcely uttered these words, when Charlotte's knife 
was buried in his bosom. 

" Help !" he cried, " help ! I am murdered." He died im- 
mediately. 

Charlotte might have escaped, but she had no such intention. 
She had undertaken what she conceived a meritorious action, 
and was resolved to stay and ascertain whether her aim had 
been sure. In a short time, the screams of Marat's servant 
brought a crowd of people into the room. Some of them beat 
and ill-used her, but, the Members of the Section having arrived, 
she placed herself under their protection. They were all struck 
with her extraordinary beauty, as well as with the calm and lofty 
heroism that beamed from her countenance. Accustomed as 
they were to the shedding of human blood, they could not be- 
hold unmoved this beautiful girl, who had not yet reached her 



CHARLOTTE CORD AY. 159 

twenty-fifth year, standing before them with unblenching eye, 
but with modest dignity, awaiting their fiat of death for a deed 
which she imagined would save her country from destruction. 
At length Danton arrived, and treated her with the most de- 
basing indignity, to which she only opposed silent contempt. 
She was then dragged into the street, placed in a coach, and 
Drouet was directed to conduct her to the conciergerie.* On her 
way thither, she was attacked by the infuriated multitude. Here 
for the first time she evinced symptoms of alarm. The possibi- 
lity of being torn to pieces in the streets, and her mutilated 
limbs dragged through the kennel and made a sport of by the 
ferocious rabble, had never before occurred to her imagination. 
The thought now struck her with dismay, and aroused all her 
feelings of female delicacy. The firmness of Drouet, however, 
saved her, and she thanked him warmly. 

^"^-." Not that I feared to die,'' she said ; " but it was repugnant 
to my woman's nature to be torn to pieces before everybody." 

Whilst she was at the conciergerie, a great many persons ob- 
tained leave to see her, and all felt the most enthusiastic admi- 
ration on beholding a young creature of surpassing loveliness, 
with endowments that did honour to her sex, and a loftiness 
of heroism to which few of the stronger sex have attained, who 
had deliberately executed that which no man in the country 
had resolution to attempt, though the whole nation wished 
it, and calmly given up her life for the public weal. 

Charlotte's examination before the revolutionary tribunal is 
remarkable for the dignified simplicity of her answers. I shall 
only mention one which deserves to be handed down to pos- 
terity. 

"Accused," said the President, "how happened it that thou 
couldst reach the heart at the very first blow? Hadst thou 
been practising beforehand ?" 

Charlotte cast an indescribable look at the questioner. 

" Indignation had roused my heart," she replied, " and it 
showed me the v/ay to his." 

When sentence of death was passed on her^ and all her pro- 



160 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

p^rty declared forfeited to tlie state, she turned to her counsel, 
M. Chauveau Lagarde ; 

"I cannot, Sir, sufficiently thank vou," she said, ''for the 
noble and delicate manner in which you have defended me ; and 
I will at once give you a proof of my gratitude. I have now 
nothing in the world, aud I bequeath to you the few debts I 
have contracted in my prison. Pray discharge them for me.'" 

When the executioner came to make preparations for her 
execution, she entreated him not to cut off her hair. 

. " It shall not be in your way,'^ she said ; and taking her stay- 
lace she tied her thick and beautiful hair on the top of her head, 
so as not to impede the stroke of the axe. She is thus repre- 
sented in the portrait at the head of this article. 

In her last moments, she refused the assistance of a priest ; 
and upon this is founded a charge of her being an infidel. But 
there is nothing to justify so foul a blot upon her memory. 
Charlotte Corday had opened her mind, erroneously perhaps, 
to freedom of thought in religion as well as in politics. Deeply 
read in the philosophic writings of the day, she had formed her 
own notions of faith. She certainly rejected the communion 
of the Roman Chm-ch ; and it may be asked whether the con- 
duct of the hierarchy of France before the revolution was calcu- 
lated to convince her that she tvas in error? But because she 
refused the aid of man as a mediator between her and God, is it 
just to infer that she rejected her Creator ? Certainly not. A 
mind like hers was incapable of existing without religion ; and 
the very action she committed may justify the inference that she 
anticipated the contemplation, from other than earthly realms, 
of the happiness of her rescued country. 

As the cart in Avhich she was seated proceeded towards the 
place of execution, a crowd of wretches in the street, ever ready 
to insult the unfortunate, and glut their eyes with the sight of 
blood, called out : 

" To the guillotine with her !" 

" I am on my way thither,'' she mildly replied, turning to- 
wards them. 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 161 

She was a striking figure as slie sat in the cart. The extraor- 
dinary beauty of her features, and the mildness of her look, 
strangely contrasted with the murderer's red garment which she 
wore. She smiled at the spectators whenever she perceived 
marks of sympathy rather than of curiosity, and this smile gave a 
truly Raphaelic expression to her countenance. Adam Lux, a 
deputy of Mayence, having met the cart, shortly after it left the 
conciergerie, gazed with wonder at this beautiful apparition — for 
he had never before seen Charlotte — and a passion, as singular 
as it was deep, immediately took possession of his mind. 

" Oh!" cried he, '' this woman is surely greater than Brutus !'' 
Anxious once more to behold her, he ran at full speed towards 
the Palais Royal, which he reached before the cart arrived in 
front of it. Another look which he cast upon Charlotte Corday, 
completely unsettled his reason. The world to him had sud- 
denly become a void, and he resolved to quit it. Rushing like 
a madman to his own house, he wrote a letter to the revolu- 
tionary tribunal, in which he repeated the words he had already 
uttered at the sight of Charlotte Corday, and concluded by ask- 
ing to be condemned to death, in order that he might join her in 
a better world. His request was granted, and he was executed 
soon after. Before he died, he begged the executioner to bind 
him with the very cords that had before encircled the delicate 
limbs of Charlotte upon the same scaffold, and his head fell as 
he was pronouncing her name. 

Charlotte Corday, wholly absorbed by the solemnity of her 
last moments, had not perceived the effect she had produced 
upon Adam Lux, and died in ignorance of it. Having reached 
the foot of the guillotine, she ascended the platform with a firm 
step, but with the greatest modesty of demeanour. "" Her 
countenance,'' says an eye-witness, " evinced only the calmness 
of a soul at peace with itself.'*'^'. 

The executioner having removed the handkerchief which co- 
vered her shoulders and bosom, her face and neck became suf- 
fused with a deep blush. Death had no terrors for her, but her 
innate feelings of modesty were deeply wounded at being thus 



162 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

exposed to public gaze. Her being fastened to the fatal plank 
seemed a relief to lier, and slie eagerly rushed to death as a re- 
fuge against this violation of female delicacy. 

fWhen her head fell, the executioner took it up and bestowed 
a buffet upon one of the cheeks. iThe eyes which were already 
closed, again opened and cast a look of indignation upon the 
brute, as if consciousness had survived the separation of the 
head from the body/^. This fact, extraordinary as it may seem, 
has been averred by thousands of eye-witnesses ; it has been 
accounted for in various ways, and no one has ever questioned 
its truth. 

Before Charlotte Corday was taken to execution, she wrote 
a letter to her father, entreating his pardon for having, without 
his permission, disposed of the life she owed him. Here the 
lofty-minded heroine again became the meek and submissive 
daughter, as, upon the scaffold, the energetic and daring woman 
was nothing but a modest and gentle girl. 

The Mountain party, furious at the loss of their leader, 
attempted to vituperate the memory of Charlotte Corday, by 
attributing to her motives much less pure and praiseworthy than 
those which really led to the commission of the deed for which 
she suffered. They asserted that she was actuated by re- 
venge for the death of a man named Belzunce, who was her 
lover, and had been executed at Caen upon the denunciation of 
Marat. But Charlotte Corday was totally unacquainted with 
Belzunce ; she had never even seen him. More than that, she 
was never known to have an attachment of the heart. Her 
thoughts and feelings were wholly engrossed by the state of her 
country, and her mind had no leisure for the contemplation of 
connubial happiness. Her life was therefore offered up in 
the purest spirit of patriotism, unmixed with any worldly 
passion. 

M. Prudliomme relates that, on the very day of Marafs 
death, M. Piot, a teacher of the Italian language, called upon 
him. This gentleman had just left Marat, with whom he had 
been conversing on the state of the country. The representative, 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 163 

in reply to some observation made by M. Piot, had uttered these 
remarkable words : — 

^.'--cc. They who govern are a pack of fools. France must have a 
( chief ; but to reach this point, blood must be shed, not drop hy 
drop, but in torrents.'''' 

" Marat," added M. Piot to M. Prudliomme, " was in his 
bath and very ill. This man cannot live a month longer." 

When M. Piot was informed that Marat had been murdered, 
an hour after he had made this communication to M. Prud'- 
homme, he was stricken with a sort of palsy, and would probably 
have died of fright, had not M. Prud'homme promised not to 
divulge this singular coincidence. 

^To the (eternal disgrace of the French nation, no monument 
Hias been raised to the memory of Charlotte Corday, nor is it 
\ even known where her remains were deposited ; and yet, in the 
! noble motive of her conduct, and the immense and generous 
^ sacrifice she made of herself, when in the enjoyment of every 
thing that could make life valuable, she has an eternal claim 
, upon the gratitude of her country. 



^ So called from their occupying the highest seats in the assembly. 

2 This anecdote is given on the authority of M. Drouineau. [The article 
from which it is taken, forms a very interesting chapter in the " Livre des 
Cent-et-un," and is to be found in Whittaker's edition of " Paris, or the 
Book of the Hundred-and-one/' under the title of " A house in the Rue de 
I'Ecole de Medecine."— Ed.] 



164 



JOSEPHINE, 

EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH. 

There is not, I am siire, a Frencliwoman of my age, to 
whom tlie name at the liead of this article would not recall the 
most splendid period of the French empire, asso ciated with all 
ihht is good and amiable in woman. The recollection of Jose- 
phine always awakens feelings which none but herself could 
have kindled ; they arise not only from her innate benevolence 
of disposition, and the gentle and endearing qualities of her 
heart, but from the spell of fascination which she threw over all 
who approached her. Every generous and sympathizing heart, 
with her rank and power, could confer benefits ; but no one could 
impart to them the charm which she gave with a word, or a look, 
or a smile ; and no one equalled her in winning confidence or 
affording consolation where acts of liberality were of no avail. 
It is a motive of satisfaction to us women, when we number 
among the celebrated of our sex such a being as the stern and 
merciless Mary of England, to find so striking a contrast as that 
afforded by the subject of this memoir. 

Josephine Rose Tascher de la Pagerie was born at Martinique, 
on the 24th of June 1763. At a very early age she came to 
Paris, where she married the Viscount Beauharnais, a man of 
talent and superior personal endowments, but not a courtier, as 
some writers have asserted, for he was never even presented at 
court. Beauharnais was a man of limited fortune, and his wife's 
dower more than doubled his income. In 1787, Madame Beau- 
harnais returned to Martinique to nurse her aged mother, whose 
health was in a declining state ; but the disturbances which 
soon after took place in that colony, drove her back to France. 
Durin.ir her absence, the revolution had broken out. and on her 



JOSEPHINE. 165 

return slie found her husband entirely devoted to those principles 
upon which the regeneration of the French people was to be 
founded. The well-known opinions of the Viscount Beauhar- 
nais gave his wife considerable influence with the rulers of blood 
who stretched theiri reeking sceptre over the whole nation; and 
she had frequent opportunities, which she never lost, of saying 
persons doomed by their sanguinary decrees. Among others, 
Mademoiselle de Bethisy was condemned, by the revolutionary 
tribunal, to be beheaded ; but Madame Beauharnais, by her irre- 
sistible intercession, succeeded in obtaining the life and freedom 
of this interesting lady. The revolution however, devouring, 
like Saturn, its own children, spared none of even its warmest 
supporters, the moment they came in collision with the govern- 
ing party, then composed of ignorant and blood-thirsty enthu- 
siasts. The slightest hesitation in executing any of their de- 
crees, however absurd or impracticable, was considered a crime 
deserving of death. Beauharnais had been appointed general 
in chief of the army of the North. Having failed to attend 
to some foolish order of the Convention, he was cited to appear 
at its bar and give an account of his conduct. No one appeared 
before this formidable assembly, but to take, immediately after, 
the road to the guillotine ; and such was the case with the re- 
publican general Beauharnais. He was tried, and condemned ; 
and, on the 23rd of July 1794, he was publicly beheaded at the 
Place de la Revolution. Meantime, his wife had been thrown 
into prison, where she remained until Robespierre's death, ex- 
pecting each day to be led out to execution. Having at length 
recovered her freedom, she joined her children, Eugene and 
Hortense, who had been taken care of during their mother's 
captivity by some true and devoted, though humble friends. 
After the establishment of the Directory, Madame Tallian 
became all-powerful with the Director Barras, to whom she 
introduced Madame Beauharnais. 

Some scandalous and wholly unfounded tales have been pro- 
pagated concerning the intimacy of Barras with Madame Beau- 
harnais ; it has even been stated that he introduced Bonaparte 



166 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

to her, and that her marriage with this general was the price 
paid for the command of the army in Italy. This is a base 
calumny ; but, during the progress of the Consulate and the 
Empire, party feelings ran so high that there was no falsehood, 
however atrocious, which was not warmly received and propagated 
as authentic in every country warring against the principles of 
the French revolution. Bonaparte did not become acquainted 
with Madame Beauharnais at the house of Barras ; the acquaint- 
ance was accidental, as I shall immediately show, and never was 
marriage contracted under feelings of warmer attachment than 
that felt by Napoleon for Josephine. 

The following incident first led to their acquaintance. The 
day after the 13th of Vendemiaire, a boy called upon General 
Bonaparte, then commandant of Paris, and, with ingenuous bold- 
ness, begged that his father's sword might be returned to him. 

" And who is your father, my good boy ?'''' said Bonaparte, 
looking with interest at the boy's open and manly countenance, 
and feeling an unusual curiosity about him. 

" My father was General Beauharnais,'" the youth replied, 
with a tear streaming down each cheek. 

" Oh !" said Bonaparte hastily, " he who was guillotined ;" 
then checking himself, as if in regret at ha\4ng thoughtlessly 
hurt the applicant's feelings, he held out his hand, and said with 
a kindness of manner peculiarly his own : — 

" You shall have your father's sword, and I will be your 
friend. Is your mother alive ?" 

" She is. General." 

Bonaparte took Madame Beauharnais' address, called upon 
her next day, and continued to visit her. They afterwards met 
at the house of Barras, but as friends who had known each 
other for some time. 

Bonaparte at length became passionately attached to Madame 
Beauharnais, and married her on the 17th of February 1796. ^^ 
.She accompanied him to Italy, where by her powers of pleasing 
she charmed his toils, and by her aifectionate attentions soothed 
his disappointments when rendered too bitter by the impediments 



JOSEPHINE. m? 

which the jealousy of the Directory threw in the way of his vic- 
tories. It was during his stay at Milan, that Josephine had a 
foretaste of that power which she was one day to share with him 
on the most powerful throne in Europe. When Bonaparte set 
out on his expedition to Egypt, Madame Bonaparte took up her 
residence at Malmaison, where she spent almost the whole time 
of his absence. On his return, reasons, concerning which much 
has been said and much controverted, led him to desire a separa- 
tion. For a long time he refused to see her, and she gave way 
to the most violent despair ; but her children, whom Bonaparte 
loved as if they were his own, ultimately brought about an inter- 
view, and became the bond of their reconciliation. All cause 
of complaint, whether founded or not, was now forgotten, and 
Bonaparte recovered the happiness he never ought to have lost. 
^^"v.There is a class of persons in Paris who owe a deep debt of 
gratitude to Josephine, and seem but little sensible of it : I 
mean the aristocratic inhabitants of the Faubourg St. Germain. 
They had emigrated and were proscribed as enemies of their 
country ; they however returned to France, but not to obey nor 
to respect its government. Madame Bonaparte was their great 
benefactress : she had their lives spared and their property re- 
stored to them. Messrs. de Polignac can vouch for this fact. 

Bonaparte loved Josephine with great tenderness, and this 
attachment can be expressed in no words but his own. In his 
letters published by Queen Hortense, it may be seen how ar- 
dently his soul of fire had fixed itself to hers, and mixed up her 
life with his own. These letters form a striking record. (A )^"^ 
woman so beloved, and by such a man, could have been no 
ordiujary person.' 

When Napoleon became sovereign of France, after having 
proved its hero, he resolved that his crown should also grace the 
brows of Josephine. I saw her at Notre-Dame, kneeling be- 
fore the great altar, and gracefully inclined towards him as he 
?aid to her : • ■ 

" I make you a queen among queens ; I crown you empress 
of the greatest and most beautiful empire in the world.^' 



168 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

With liis o^\\\ hand he placed the small crown upon lier head, 
just above the diamond band which encii'cled her forehead. It 
was evident that he felt intense happiness in thus honouring 
the woman he\loved,}and making her share his greatness. 

Some time after, Josephine went to Milan to be also crowned 
and consecrated queen of Italy. And this was the woman whom, 
for political reasons, Bonaparte was afterwards induced to cast 
off. But the time of his separation from her, seemed also the 
period when the star of his good fortune set never to rise again. 

It was truly marvellous to see Josephine at the Tuileries, on 
grand reception days, as she walked through the Gallerie de 
Diane and the Salle des Marechaux. Where did this surprizing 
woman acquire her royal bearing ? She never appeared at one 
of these splendid galas of the empire without exciting a sentiment 
of admiration, and of affection too : for her smile was sweet and 
benevolent, and her words mild and captivating, at the same 
tune that her appearance was majestic and imposing. I have 
often seen her on such occasions, and each time with fresh Avon- 
der and delight. 

She had some very gratifying moments dming her greatness, if 
she afterwards encountered sorrow. The marriage of her son 
Eugene to the Princess of Bavaria, and that of her niece to the 
Prince of Baden, were events of which she might well be proud. 
' Napoleon seemed to study how he could please her ; he seemed 
happy but in her happiness/ 

He generally yielded to her entreaties ; for the manner in 
which she made a request was irresistible. Her voice was 
naturally harmonious like that of most Creoles, and there was a 
peculiar charm in every word she uttered. I once witnessed, at 
Malmaison, an instance of her power over the Emperor. A 
soldier of the guard, guilty of some breach of discipline, had 
been condemned to a very severe punishment. Marshal Bes- 
sieres was anxious to obtain the man's pardon ; but as Napoleon 
had already given his decision, there was no hope unless the 
Empress undertook the affair. She calmly listened to the Mar- 
shal, and, having received all the information necessary, said with 
lier musical voice and bewitchino- smile : 



JOSEPHINE. 169 

^' I will try if I can obtain the poor man's pardon/^ 

When the Emperor returned to the drawing-room, we all 
looked to see the expression his countenance would assume when 
she mentioned the matter to him. At first he frowned, but, as 
the Empress went on, his brow relaxed ; he then smiled, looked 
at her with his sparkling eyes, and said, kissing her forehead : 

'(Well, let it be so for this once ; but, Josephine, mind you ^HiM 
do not acquire a habit of making such applications.'*'' / 

He then put his arm round her waist, and again tenderly 
kissed her. Now what spell had she employed to produce such 
an eiFect ? Merely a few words, and a look, and a smile ; but 
each was irresistible. 

Then came days of anguish and regret. She had given no 
heir to Napoleon^s throne, and all hope of such an event was 
now past. This wrung her heart; for it was a check to Napo- 
leon's ambition of family greatness, and a disappointment to the 
French nation. The female members of Napoleon's family dis- 
liked the Empress — they were perhaps jealous of her influence — ■ 
and the present opportunity was not lost to impress upon the Em- 
peror the necessity of a divorce. At length he said to Josephine : 

" We must separate ; I must have an heir to my empire." 

With a bleeding heart, she meekly consented to the sacrifice. 
The particulars of the divorce are too well known to be repeated 
here. I shall merely mention the following words of Prince 
Eugene, when, as Arch-Chancellor of the Empire, he communi- 
cated the event to the senate. 

" The Emperor's tears," said the Prince, scarcely able to 
restrain his own, " would alone suffice to establish my mother's 
glory." 

After this act of self-immolation, Josephine withdrew to Mal- 
maison, where she lived in elegant retirement ; unwilling to- 
afflict the Emperor with the news of her grief, and wearing a 
smile of seeming content which but ill veiled the sorrows of her 
heart. Yet she was far from being calm ; and in the privacy of 
friendship, the workings of her affectionate nature would some- 
times burst forth. But she was resigned, and what more could 
be required from a broken heart ? 



170 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

On the birth of the King of Rome, when Pro\'idence at length 
granted the Emperor an heir to his thrones, Josephine experienced 
a moment of satisfaction which made her amends for many days 
of bitterness. All her thoughts and hopes were centered in 
Napoleon and his glory, and the consummation of his wishes 
was to her a source of pure and unutterable satisfaction. 

"My sacrifice will at least have been useful to him and to 
France," she said to me, pressing my hand and looking at me 
with tearful eyes. But they were tears of joy. Yet this joy 
was not unalloyed ; and the feeling which accompanied it, was 
the more bitter because it could not be shown. It was, however, 
betrayed by these simple and affecting words uttered in the most 
thrilling tone : 

"Alas ! why am I not his mother ?" 

When the disasters of the Russian campaign took place, she 
was certainly much more afflicted than the woman who filled her 
place at the Tuileries. When in private with any of us, who 
were intimate with her, she wept bitterly. 

One day, on paying her a visit, I found her overpowered with 
emotion ; but it was the emotion of pleasure. She was so over- 
come that she could scarcely speak. 

" I have seen the King of Rome,'' she said, bursting into 
tears. She was at that time unable to give me an account of the 
internew, and it was only in the com-se of the ensuing week that 
she became calm enough to do so. She loved this child because 
he was Napoleon's, and she loved him as dearly as she loved 
Eugene and Hortense. 

The Emperor's abdication, and exile to Elba, cut her to the 
soul. 

" Why did I leave him .^" she said to me, on hearing that he 
had set out alone for Elba ; " why did I consent to this sepa- 
ration ? Had I not done so, I should now be by his side, to 
console him in his misfortunes." 

On Thursday the 24th of May 1814, I breakfasted with her 
at Malmaison. After breakfast she took a long walk ; I accom- 
panied her with my daughter Josephine, whose godmother she 



JOSEPHINE. _ 171 

was, and who, though then a mere infant, was much attached to 
her. She was in good health, and tolerable spirits, and she 
talked to me a great deal about a change of pictures she wished 
to make with me. 

" Come and breakfast with me on Monday,^^ she said, " and 
we will settle about this exchange. The Emperor of Russia 
and the King of Prussia will spend the day here on Sunday, 
and I anticipate great fatigue from their visit." 

When I arrived on the Monday morning, she was very ill ; 
next day, May 29th, she was no more. Her two children were 
with her during her last moments. 

Her body was buried in the church of Ruel. Every person 
of any note then at Paris attended her funeral. She was univer- 
sally regretted by foreigners as well as by Frenchmen ; and she 
obtained, as she deserved, a tribute to her memory, not only 
from the nation whose empress she had been, but from the 
whole of Europe, whose proudest sovereigns had once been at/ 
her feet, " ^ r-' 

5 



172 



MARY, 

QUEEN OF ENGLAND. 

Mary of England, daughter of Henry VIII. and Catherine 
of AiTagon, has been designated to posterity under the names of 
Mary the Catholic, and Mary the Bloody. She is accused, 
and justly so, of cruelty and religious fanaticism; though the 
dark points of her character have been as much exaggerated by 
Protestant writers, as a puerile attempt to attenuate them has 
disgraced the historians of the Catholic party. In the absence 
of all prejudice, however, and taking the middle line between 
the two parties, sufficient will be found to justify the last epithet 
as applied to Mary's character and reign. 

This princess was born on the 4th of Febniary 1515, and 
educated in misfortune. Being the daughter of a repudiated 
wife, and herself an object of persecution under the reigns of 
her father and brother, her temper, as she grew up, became 
soured by the disappointment and injustice which hung like a clog 
upon her young years. ■ But her character was natm-ally gloomy 
and austere, and she had inherited many of the defects of her 
father's nature : she had. his thirst for the revenge of blood, and, 
like him, she never forgave. In her person she was ill-favoured 
and forbidding ; there was a total absence of female grace and 
bl^mdishment, in which very few of her sex are wholly deficient, 
and which would have proved a powerful auxiliary to her cause 
when, after the death of Edward VI., she came forward to ascend 
the throne of England. 

The Pope having taken up the cause of Catherine of An-agon 
against Henry VIIL, that unhappy princess became a blind 







-•M/,7M( rA-V/r 



VX77X, /7/'^^^//"/^<^-<:^.^^t^/<;/-<' 



J',C^r„yor,/>J/,i/!.;//y /Ju//. i' C-Zuirian M A.,/'/cs.j7 YckryJd , f^. 



MARY. 173 

slave to the Holy See, and continued so till her death. It was 
natural enough that she should communicate her feelings to 
her daughter Mary ; it was also natural that Mary herself should 
imbibe a horror of that faith which had sanctioned her mother's 
divorce, and thrown upon herself the stain of illegitimacy. Ca- 
tholicism was therefore a necessary condition of Mary's exist- 
ence ; combined with her temper and bigotry, it was also the 
very worst quality in the sovereign of a country strongly attached 
to the reformed religion. 

At the period of Edward's death, there were four female 
claimants to the crown of England. Two of them were daugh- 
ters of Henry VIII. : Mary the Catholic, born of a repudiated 
wife, and Elizabeth the Protestant, born of a wife beheaded as 
an adulteress. The two others, descended from Henry VII., 
were Lady Jane Grey, and Mary Stuart, , Queen of Scotland : 
the one a Protestant, like Elizabeth, and claiming by virtue of 
the last will of Edward VI. ; the other a Catholic, like Mary, 
and having not a very clear right, nor the means of enforcing 
it, even if it were established. 

Lady Jane Grey, in the innocence of her heart, was unac- 
quainted with her ov^n claims, and was, besides, unambitious to 
change her lot. But an ambitious father-in-law forced her upon 
a throne, to reign only a few days, and then die by the hand 
of the public executioner. 

Northumberland, not trusting solely to the will of Edward VI. 
to get Lady Jane Grey acknowledged queen after the king's 
death, was anxious, before he made the attempt, to have the two 
daughters of Henry VIII. in his power. He therefore, a short 
time before Edward's death, prevailed upon the council to write 
to Mary and Elizabeth, requesting their presence to afford assist- 
ance and consolation to their dying brother. They accordingly 
set out for London ; but Edward having expired before their ar- 
rival, Northumberland concealed his death, in order that the prin- 
cesses might continue their journey, and Ml into the snare he had 
laid for them. Mary had already reached Hoddesdon, about _ 
seventeen miles from London, when the Earl of Arundel sent 



174 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

her an express to inform her of her brother^s death, and warn 
her of the projects of Northumberland. She immediately re- 
tired in all haste, and reached Kenninghall in Norfolk, whence 
she proceeded to Framlingham in Suffolk. Her ultimate in- 
tention was to have embarked from this place for Flanders, had 
she been unable to make a stand there in defence of her right 
of succession. She wrote to all the principal nobility and gentry 
in the kingdom, calling upon them to take up arms in defence 
of the crown and its legitimate heir ; she also sent to the council 
to announce that she was aware of her brother^s death, and 
commanded them to take the necessary steps for her being 
proclaimed. 

Dissimulation being no longer of any use, Northumberland 
boldly declared his plan, and, attended by several of the great 
nobles of England, proceeded to Sion House, where he did 
homage to Lady Jane Grey as Queen of England. It was then 
only that this lovely and unfortunate young woman was made 
acquainted with the intentions of her father-in-law. She rejected 
the proffered crown, and urged the priority of right possessed 
by the daughters of Henry VIII. For a long time she per- 
sisted in her refusal ; and her resistance was at length over- 
come, more by the entreaties of her husband, Lord Guildford 
Dudley, than by the reasoning of her father-in-law. She was 
immediately conducted to the Tower of London, where it was 
then customary for the sovereigns of England to spend the first 
days after their accession to the throne ; and she went thither 
rather as a beautiful and innocent victim to be offered up in 
sacrifice, than as the new sovereign of a great nation. 

In vain was she proclaimed Queen of England : not a sign of 
rejoicing was heard, and the people maintained a sullen silence. 
There was no feeling against Lady Jane Grey ; but the unpopu- 
larity of the Dudleys was excessive, and it was easily seen that, 
under the name of Jane, they would be the real rulers of Eng- 
land. This made the nation look towards Mary, and the pro- 
mises of religious toleration which she held out, induced them to 
support her cause. 



MARY. 175 

Meanwhile Mary was obtaining the submission of the people 
of Suffolk. All the inhabitants of this county professed the 
reformed religion, and the moment she pledged herself that 
they should freely exercise their faith, they attached them- 
selves to her cause. The most powerful of the nobility flocked 
to her standard, and Sir Edward Hastings, who had received 
a commission from the council to levy troops in the county 
of Buckingham for Lady Jane Grey, brought these troops 
to Mary. A fleet, also, which Northumberland had sent 
to cruise off the coast of Suffolk, entered Yarmouth, and de- 
clared for the daughter of Henry VIII. Soon after, the minis- 
ters of Janets government, who considered themselves little bet- 
ter than Northumberland's prisoners, left the Tower in a body, 
and with the Mayor and Aldermen of London proceeded to do 
homage to her whom they deemed their legitimate sovereign. 

Success attended Mary's arms, and she was universally ac- 
knowledged queen. At first she appeared mild and clement, 
assuming an expression of benevolence, and talking only of 
pardon. But such a word from her was a cruel mockery. If 
there was pardon, there must have been injury; and it was in 
Mary's nature never to forget an offence. This seeming mild- 
ness was only the slumber of vengeance, which was soon to 
awake and throw mourning and^desolation over the land. Nor- 
thumberland was at first the only individual she seemed desirous 
of sacrificing to her resentment. Lady Jane Grey and her hus- 
band were imprisoned in the Tower, and the Queen of England 
was proclaimed most just and most merciful, because she had 
taken only a single life. 

In a very short time, however, cries of sedition were heard. 
The people, alarmed at having a religion forced upon them in 
which they had no belief, showed symptoms of disaffection. 
Mary gave no heed to the promises she had solemnly made whilst 
struggling for her rights : she reinstated the Catholic bishops, 
'/and brow^-beat the inhabitants, of Suffolk when they urged 
her pledge to them.X The prisons were filled with victims, and 
the Protestant preachers persecuted and put to death. Judge 



176 LIVES OF CELEBRx\TED WOMEN. 

Hales, who had strenuously defended Mary's claims, became a 
base traitor the moment he ventured to oppose the illegal innova- 
tions which she wished to make. He was thro'vvn into prison, and 
treated with such severity, that he became frantic, and committed 
suicide. Cranmer, who certainly had strong claims to Mary's 
gratitude, was nevertheless imprisoned, but was not imme- 
diately doomed, being reserved for more lingering torments. 
Soon were the dead torn from their graves, and their bones burned 
by the conmion hangman. On the other hand, the most atro- 
cious malefactors, provided they were Catholics, were liberated 
from prison, and again let loose upon society. The most 
extensive powers were given to the Catholic chiefs to make Ca- 
tholicism trium.ph, and the queen's authority respected. The 
fertile plains of England streamed with human blood ; for Mary's 
troops did as much execution as the officers of the law. In the 
course of three years, two hundred and seventy-seven individuals 
were biu-ned alive for heresy, and among them were fifty-five 
women and four children^, A pregnant woman on the point of 
delivery was tied to the stake ; the violence of the torture has- 
tened the birth, and in the midst of the flames the poor woman 
was delivered of a son. A soldier sprang forward to save the 
child, but a magistrate who stood by interfered. 

" It is a heretic," cried the ruthless savage, ^' because it is the 
offspring of a heretic ;" and the poor babe was thrown back into 
the fire. 

Such were the ministers of Mary's justice, and well did their 
actions correspond with her ferocious and sanguinary heart. 

Nevertheless, Mary's throne ran no little danger from internal 
commotions. Her sister Elizabeth and Lady Jane Grey had still 
numerous adherents, and many of the nobles Avere disaffected. 
But these troubles were partially quelled, and Mary now began to. 
think of marrying. It would have been much better policy had 
she placed beside her on the throne of England one of her own 
nation ; but in the direction her mind had taken with regard to 
religion, she preferred rather to obtain a supporter of the faith 
which she Mas imposing upon her subjects by dint of the most 



MARY. 477 

appalling cruelties. In lier embarrassment she wrote to the 
Pope, and to her cousin the Emperor Charles V, The latter 
replied in the following terms : — 
" My dear Cousin, 
'' The King of France is married ; the others are too young, 
and I am too old. My son Philip therefore appears to me the 
only husband that will suit you.'' 

Mary was then what is termed an old maid. But she was 
anxious to marry ; and however repulsive the image of Don 
Philip, with his pallid cheeks, and his red crisped hair, and his 
hollow and rare smile, she was seized with a passion for him that 
admitted of no delay. The preliminaries were soon concluded, 
the principal article being that Philip should have the title of 
King, but Mary retain the reins of power ; and England soon 
learned with dismay that Philip the Spaniard was to be its new 
sovereign. 

The consternation was general at this news, and the strongest 
remonstrances were made. But Mary, blinded by her love for a 
man whom she had never seen, and who treated her with such 
disdain that he did not even condescend to write her a single 
letter, soon imposed silence upon the complainants, by the in- 
fliction of exile or imprisonment. 

Nevertheless she could not sufficiently overcome the repug- 
nance of her subjects to make them at once yield to her will. A 
fleet had been equipped to fetch Don Philip from Spain ; but 
the commander, Lord Effingham, declared to the Queen that 
the life of the Spanish prince would not be safe during the 
voyage. ) Mary was therefore obliged to give up the point. A 
general indignation had been roused throughout the country, and, 
when once the cry of discontent is uttered by a whole people, it 
resounds far and wide. If, at this period, the King of France 
had taken advantage of the discontent existing in England, Mary 
would have been lost. But this monarch was too high-minded 
to stir up rebellion in any state with which he was not at war. 

Rebellion was, however, in good train without his assistance. 
Certain disaffected nobles had conspired to rise in arms and pre- 



178 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

vent the obnoxious marriage. Sir Thomas Wyat was to raise 
an insurrection in Kent, Sir Peter Carew in Devonsliire, and the 
Duke of Suffolk in the midland counties. Carew, however, by 
his precipitation and want of judgment defeated the plot : he 
was forced to fly to a foreign land, and the Duke of Suffolk was 
taken prisoner. Wyat was more successful, and approached 
London with an army. But on reaching London-bridge, he 
found it barricaded, and proceeded to Kingston, where he 
crossed the Thames, and returned towards London. But this 
made him lose time, and he forgot that the success of every 
popular commotion depends upon a single moment which must 
be taken advantage of. Wyat's success abandoned him, and 
he was ultimately arrested by Sir Maurice Berkeley, near 
Temple Bar, after being deserted by all his followers. .Four 
hundred persons were executed for this rebellion ; and four 
hundred more were led to the feet of the merciful Queen, who 
pardoned them, smiling with satisfaction at the sight of these 
poor wretches strung together like cattle, and humbling them- 
selves to sue for life. *v ^ 

Sir Thomas Wyat was beheaded, after solemnly declaring 
upon the scaffold that the Princess Elizabeth and the Earl of 
Devonshire were both guiltless of any participation in his en- 
terprize. His death put an end to this rebellion, the most seri- 
ous during Mary's reign. 

But for a mind like that of the daughter of Henry VIII. it 
was not sufficient to be victorious : the repose produced bv vic- 
tory must be sealed with a sacrifice of blood. Lady Jane Grey 
and her husband were the victims which Mary designated for 
this occasion. 

The preliminaries of the Queen's marriage being at length 
concluded, Philip was to be sent to England in a Spanish 
squadron. During the whole time the voyage lasted, Mary 
was in a state of nervous irritation, which considerably impaired 
her health. She was afraid that Philip would be taken prisoner 
by the French fleet then at sea ; then again she w^as fearful that 
the uneasiness caused by this fear would impair her beauty, and 



MARY. 17'9 

r — "~- 
render her disgusting to her young husband. ;It is certain that 

such emotion embellished neither her small and angry eyes, nor 

her thin hanging lips, which never worked into a smile but from 

delight in evil. cS 

News at length reached the Queen that Philip had arrived 
at Southampton, and she now saw the consummation of her 
wishes. The marriage took place at Westminster, when the 
royal couple, after making a public entry into London, pro- 
ceeded to Windsor Palace, which had been prepared for their 
residence. 

Philip was then precisely what he showed himself to be at a 
later period : stern and austere in speech and manners. On the 
first interview, Mary was herself stricken with dread at the 
severity of his appearance. He, however, affected great mag- 
nificence and generosity towards the subjects of his consort, 
^nd made an ostentatious display of wealth quite unknown at 
this period among a nation which has since surpassed every other 
in the acquisition of friches. 

Sir William Monson states a fact, connected with Philip's 
arrival in England, so remarkable that I give it a place here. 
The Spanish squadron, on approaching the coast, passed the 
English fleet, and did not lower their topsails as a mark of 
deference to the English flag within the narrow seas. The 
fleet, therefore, fired at the Spanish ships, although the new 
King was on board ; a mark of spirit very unusual at that 
period, especially towards a person of royal blood, for the navy 
of England had not then acquired the pride of superiority after- 
wards imparted to it by Elizabeth. ' 

The Countess of Salisbury, who had been Mary's governess, 
had left a son as learned and pious as he was superior in personal 
endowments. This was the celebrated Cardinal Pole. Queen 
Mary had lo"^ed him, and, as he had not taken priest's orders, 
she had even hinted at his becoming her husband. But the 
Cardinal was not sufficiently ambitious of wearing a crown to 
purchase it at such a price. 

Being sent to Philip and Mary as the legate of the Holy Sec, 



180 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

he soon, by liis mildness, appeased the disturbances which the- 
Qiieen had excited by the ferocious nature of her government. 
On the other hand, Philip sought to conciliate the English, by 
a show of great liberality and forbearance. Coui'tney Earl of 
Devonshire, one of the noblest barons of England, and related to 
the royal family of France, had been thrown into the Tower, 
under pretence of a connivance between him and the Princess 
Elizabeth, who, it is said, was anxious to marry him. But 
Mary, having the same feeling towards the nobleman, was jea- 
lous of the preference he gave to her sister. Philip restored 
him to freedom, and the Earl immediately set out upon his 
travels. A short time after, he was poisoned at Padua, and it 
was rumoured throughout Europe that the foul deed had been 
committed by the Imperialists. 

/^ Mary was very anxious to become a mother. This wish, so 
natural in a young woman, became ridiculous in her, and she 
carried it to such a pitch of extravagance that Philip at length 
became disgusted and neglected her. The day on which Car- 
dinal Pole was presented as the Pope's legate, the Queen, who 
for some months past had pretended to be pregnant, suddenly 
exclaimed that her child had quickened on the appearance of the 
representative of Christ's vicar upon earth. Immediately the 
catholic preachers of England announced the auspicious event, 
and St. Elizabeth, and St. John the Baptist, were impiously 
brought into comparison with the Queen and her imaginary 
offspring. The truth is, Mary w^as afflicted with dropsy, and 
much nearer ending life than conferring it upon a future King, 
of England. 

Philip, heartily tired of all this, set out to visit Spain. No 
doubt he was then a man of the same stern character as when he 
afterwards doomed his son to death ; but in him ferociousness 
Avas perhaps of a more elevated character than in Mary. , Besides, 
it was less repugnant to hear him utter words of fondness just 
after he had signed a death-warrant ; for ^oman ; is formed to * 
be so gentle and feeble a being, that she cannot forego her na- f 
ture without becoming more hideous and frightful than -the worst 
man that Providence ever sent as a curse upon earth. 



MARY. 181 

Wlien Mary again found herself alone — when the man to 
whom, as she said, she had sacrificed England, had left her 
to herself, she became a very fiend without pity, and from that 
period the Roman Catholic religion excited such abhorrence 
in England, that though nearly three centuries have elapsed, the 
feeling is scarcely eradicated. Persecution recommenced with 
redouljed fury ; and the provinces of England were again 
lighted up with fires for the destruction of heresy. Rogers, 
prebendary of St. PauFs, was burnt at Smithfield ; Hooper, 
bishop of Gloucester, was executed in that city. Mary displayed 
a refinement of cruelty in the case of this latter prelate : when 
the venerable man was tied to the stake, a stool was placed be- 
fore him, and upon it was laid the Queen's pardon, which he was 
to obtain by an abjuration. X^is tortures were dreadful, but he 
shrank not from them. He ordered the stool to be removed, 
and died a martyr to his faith. /And it was a woman who could 
thus speculate upon the effect of paiit-{ At Coventry, Saunders 
perished at the stake, and Taylor, Curate of Hadley, underwent 
the same fate. Everywhere fire devoured the victims of Mary's 
cruel fanaticism. The Queen felt the approach of death, and, 
like the sovereigns of the East, seemed resolved to send before 
her a numerous and gloomy cortege. 

(^Ferrar Bishop of St. David's, Ridley Bishop of London, and 
Latimer Bishop of Worcester, suffered martyrdom with marvel- 
lous fortitude. Women, children, and old men, were sacrificed' 
without distinction in the name of our meek and merciful Saviour! 
No individual was secure from the stake whenever the basilisk 
eye of Henry's daughter had marked its victim. This Was 
indeed a horrible period ! 

^-At length the Queen appeared to be sinking under her infir- 
mities of mind and body. The state of excitement in which she 
was constantly kept, as much by temperament as by religious 
bigotry, made dreadful ravages in her health, increased by the 
neglect of Philip, who, since his departure, had scarcely written 
her a few cold lines. She was fast sinking to the gi-ave ; but 
she became reanimated to wreak her last act of vengeance upon 



182 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Cranmer, "vvlio, during five years, had languished in prison ; 
and the account of the death-throes of the venei-able old man in 
the midst of the flames, was sweet music to the ears of the dying- 
Mary. 

An event which occurred soon after, inflicted the last stroke 
of death upon the unhappy Queen. Notwithstanding the victo- 
ries of St. Quentin and Gravelines, the Duke of Gui^e suc- 
ceeded in taking Calais, and the fleet sent by Mary to succom- 
that place, arrived only to see the French flag-waving over the 
ramparts. This blow struck her to the earth ; and her sufferings 
became so intense that she felt God was now inflicting upon 
her the same torments she had made so many of her fellow- 
creatures endure. There she lay upon the bed of death, 
suiTounded by candles and incense, and priests of that faith 
whose temples she would have built with the bones and 
cemented with the blood of her subjects. She was now going 
to a long and terrible accoimt. The prayers of the dying 
were recited for her, as they would have been for the poorest 
wretch in her dominions ; but not a friend was near her — nor 
a relative — no one to whom she could pour forth the last 
breathings of her hoiTor-stricken soul, and call, in retm-n, for 
sympathy and affection. She retained the bitter malignancy of 
her nature to the very last. A voice in the room having uttered 
the name of her sister Elizabeth, she shuddered, opened her al- 
ready closed eyes, and looked around her with an expression that 
struck the most resolute with terror. She seemed to be try- 
ing to ascertain whether this hated sister had come to snatch 
her crown from her before her death. But this was her last 
effort : she fell back upon her pillow and expired, after saving 
in a low murmimng voice : 

f^alais ! — Calais ! — open my heart — vou will flnd it there fit 

She died on the l^h of November, after a deplorable reign 
of five years, four months, and eleven days. 

Mary Tudor was one of those women whom Nature but 
seldom sends among mankind. She was cruel and vindictive 
like lier flithcr, and like him tyrannical, headstrong, malignant, 



MARY. 183 

and of extremely violent temper. Superstition was natural to 
her, because it was part of lier birth- right ; but the cruelty with 
which she tempered her fanaticism, was an inheritance from 
Henry, being the same with which he tempered the gratification 
of his brutal passions. (She was, moreover, ignorant to excess, 
and could neither doubt the correctness of the opinions she had 
formed, nor show indulgence for those of others. ^ Amid the 
vices which compose her character she had scarcely a redeeming 
virtue, except sincerity. The courage and resolution which she 
certainly possessed, were mere constitutional qualities hereditary 
in the house of Tudor. 

^^-sWhen she died, not a voice was lifted up for her in prayer, 
.nor a tear dropped upon her grave ; and it may truly be said, 
that the last sigh of Mary Tudor wafted tidings of joy to the 
people of England. . 



184 



MARINA MNISZECH, 

CZARINA OF MOSCOVY. 

When Sigismund Augustus was elected King of Poland, 
he conferred the dignity of Palatine of Sandomir upon Count 
George Mniszech, in reward for services rendered during the 
election. Mniszech was an ambitious man, but absolutely devoid 
of any qualities to justify the favours which fortune seemed in a 
humour to heap upon his family. His reputation was without 
glory ; and in lieu of the talents which, had he possessed them, 
might have raised his name to eminence, he employed the re- 
sources of intrigue. He had an only daughter — the subject of this 
memoir ; and to her he looked forward as the stepping-stone to 
his future greatness. It is stated that, when Marina was yet 
an infant. Count Mniszech saved the life of Korica, one of 
the most celebrated among those sibyls of the North, often 
described in the history of the Cimbri. The art which she 
professed, led to her introduction into the palace of the 
Mniszechs. 

" Thy daughter,'^ said she to the Count, as she gazed with " 
intense earnestness at Marina, " shall one day reign over a 
great people : her beauty, her talents, and her lofty heroism will 
entitle her to wear a diadem.^' 

From the day on which this prediction was uttered in the pa- 
lace of Samber, Marina was educated as the daughter of a king. 
But this education, even from her tenderest years, was founded 
upon principles which might distort her sense of moral rectitude ; 
and when adolescence, by developing the extraordinary beauty 




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MARINA MNISZECII. 185 

of lier person and the equally extraordinary powers of her mind, 
gave a sort of verisimilitude to the ambitious expectations of her 
father, he took great pains to mould her to his plans and render 
her docile to his wishes. 

At this period, the Russians had not been very long emanci- 
pated from the vassalage of the Tartars. Ivan III. who ascended 
the Moscovite throne in 1462, was the first Russian monarch who 
assumed the title of Czar. He vanquished the Sultan Selim II. 
and overcame the Poles and the knights sword-bearers, but was 
too weak to tame the ferocious nature of his own subjects. 
Steel, or poison settled almost every quarrel, and the Rus- 
sian people were a horde of savages, with all the brutal vices and 
ferocity, but none of the redeeming qualities of other uncivi- 
lized nations. Ivan III. was doubtless a whimsical and cruel 
despot, barbarous as the people he governed ; but he was a man 
of courage and a legislator. To him Russia was indebted for a 
code of laws, and for abolishing, in principle at least, the maxim 
adopted by his subjects, that, " might is right."*' He felt the 
brutal degredation of his countrymen, and certainly had a 
vague conception of those reforms which Peter the Great after- 
wards effected. Had he lived in a later age, he might have 
proved a different man. His reign lasted forty-three years, and, 
notwithstanding the benefits he conferred, was an uninterrupted 
scene of brutal debauchery, ignorance, and cruelty. He was 
succeeded, in 1505, by Vassili Ivanowitz, and the latter, by 
Ivan IV. in 1533. This latter monarch, who was but a child 
when he succeeded to the throne, grew up a hideous monster 
even among his nation. Brutified by debauchery, cruel to the 
most appalling ferocity, he even ended by failing in that persom 1 
courage which had previously been considered a sort of atonement 
for his atrocities. The Tartars of the Crimea attacked, and 
set fire to the suburbs of Moscow ; the Swedes and Poles de- 
feated the Russians, and Ivan slank away from danger. In his 
brutal rage at these reverses, he blasphemed against Heaven, 
and in the frenzy of passion killed his eldest son ; then, after 
wallowing in blood and debauchery some time longer, he died 

o 



166 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WbMEN. 

while dictating fresh cruelties, aiid thus ended a hideous feigtl of 
fifty years. 

Ivan IV. left two sons, Foedor and Dmitry, the latter an 
infant of tender years. Fcedor, weak in body and intellect, 
timid and superstitious, was unfit to reign. His father knew 
this well, and judging that his house would lose the throne of 
Moscovy, unless Foedor had a council capable of governing for 
him, constituted by will a sort of regency, composed of five 
members, who were to assist the future Czar in his sacred and 
troublesome office. This will also contained a clause assigning 
to the Czarina and the infant Dmitry, the town of Ouglitsch on 
the Volga, as an appanage and residence. 

Foedor, at the period of his father's death, was twenty-seven 
years of age ; but having entirely given himself up to the minor 
practices of devotion, he left the whole care of his dominions to 
Boris Godunoff, president of the council of regency, who soon 
nullified this species of pentarchy, and ruled Moscovy under the 
title of regent. 

Boris Godunoff, then thirty-seven years old, was a man of 
ability. His mind was of a superior order ; but, as this 
order was vicious and the regent's ambition boundless, his 
line of conduct, in a country where brutal violence trampled 
upon the laws, may be anticipated. The throne seemed open 
to him on the death of Foedor, provided a single obstacle 
were removed. The Czarowitz Dmitry alone stood in his way, 
and he doomed the poor child to death. Having carefully 
ascertained that there were no other pretenders of the royal 
blood to dispute his claims, he smiled, and this smile was a 
death-warrant. 

The mother of the royal infant was soon informed of the mur- 
derous purposes of Boris. She turned pale and wept ; but the 
courage and prudence of a mother did not desert her. She well 
knew the regent's character, and the most minute precautions 
were taken to insure the safety of the Czarowitz. Neverthe- 
less, Boris was bent upon the consummation of his crime ; and 
the moment he knew that his project was discovered, he lost 



MARINA MNISZEGH. 187 

no time in despatching to Ouglitsch the ministers of his will^ 
under the title of inspectors of the palace. The Czarina Irene 
was well aware that these newly created functionaries were 
in reality the men sent to shed the innocent blood of her child, 
and from the time of their arrival at Ouglitsch, she did not 
allow Dmitry to be an instant out of her sight. The woman 
who waited upon the young Prince had undertaken, for a consi- 
derable bribe, to poison him ; but, horror-stricken at the enor- 
mity of the deed, she feared to execute it, and recalled her 
promise. Even the murderers had to contend against the pity 
with which this blooming and beautiful boy had filled their 
hearts, as well as against the united vigilance of a mother, and 
a devoted nurse, the latter replacing the Czarina when sleep or 
any other cause made her, for a short time, lose sight of the 
in&nt prince. 

Meantime, Godunoff grew impatient, and raged with fury 
at finding that his commands were not already executed. 
BiatofFskoi, the chief assassin, received an order to destroy 
without delay the legitimate heir of Moscovy. The knell of 
death had therefore sounded for the royal child : the waiting- 
woman was again induced to lend her assistance, and one evening 
at dusk, during an instant that the mother's watchfulness had 
been lulled, led the prince into a gallery opening into the court- 
yard of the palace. There stood BiatofFskoi and his companions. 
Dmitry instinctively drew back from them ; and though not awai-e 
of his danger, the colour fled from his cheeks, and a shudder 
crept through his fram€. 

At this moment his nurse, alarmed at his absence, ran into 
th'C gallery. 

" Let us return to my mother," said the poor child to her, 
in a whisper. 

*' You have a fine collar there, prince," said Biatoffskoi, 
raising with his finger the heavy gold chain which Dmitry wore 
round his neck. 

'' Will you have it ? " replied the child, casting a deprecatiiig 
look at the fierce ruffian. 



188 LTVKS OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

"^ A stab in tlie throat was the murderer's reply ; the other 
ruffians each inflicted a wound upon the hapless prince, and after 
frightfidly mutilating the poor boy's body, threw it upon that of 
the faithful nurse, who had been killed in defending her charge. 

The inhabitants of Ouglitsch were much attached to the Cza- 
rina, and especially to the young Czarowitz, whom they looked 
upon as their future sovereign, -^he populace, therefore, rose and 
tore the miu-derers limb from limb : not one of them returned to 
Moscow to claim the reward of blood.'. But this act of justice 
went no further than to punish the instruments of the crime ; 
the real perpetrator had attained his object : for Foedor dying a 
few months after, Boris GodunofF, after coquetting a few days 
with the supreiTie power and affecting to refuse the crown, 
ascended without opposition a throne stigmatized throughout 
Europe, as the seat of murder, rapine, and the most disgusting 
vice. For some years Boris enjoyed the fruits of his usurpa- 
tion ; but the curtain at length rose upon the drama in which 
the fair Pole, whose life this article purports to record, played 
a most remarkable part. 

At the period to which I now refer, the Jesuits already exer- 
cised great influence in Europe, and were dii-ecting their most 
strenuous endeavours to extend it over the whole world. Without 
here discussing the good or evil which resulted from the power 
they were acquiring, I shall merely observe that civilization was 
almost always its consequence. They had been very successful 
in Poland, and the Palatine of Sandomir and his daughter, like 
most of the Polish nobles, had yielded to the sway, which, 
under the name of religion, they exercised in all political mat- 
ters. One of their great objects was to convert Russia to Catho- 
licism, and thereby extend their domination over that barbarous 
country ; but many obstacles seemed to oppose the undertaking. 
Nevertheless, a chance offered and was eagerly grasped at : it 
would, no doubt, involve Poland and Russia in dreadful cala- 
mities, if not in mutual ruin ; but this was a minor consideration 
with the .Jesuits —*- the benefit to be obtained was worth all risks, 
and the end, they thought, justified the means. 



MAiUNA MNISZECH. 189 

Boris Godunoff was reigning in perfect security, and tlie 
Moscovites seemed almost resigned to his usurpation, when sud- 
denly a strange rumour spread like wildfire through the country. 
It was reported that Dmitry had survived the attempt upon 
his life, and w^as coming to claim the throne of his ancestors. 
This report was soon confirmed, and Boris at length knew 
that his victim was alive, and residing in the palace of the Pala- 
tine of Sandomir, under the protection of Sigismund III. king of 
Poland. 

Some months previously, the patriarch of Moscow had re- 
ceived information from the Metropolitan of RestofF, that in the 
monastery of Tschudow, there was a young monk calling him- 
self the Czarowitz Dmitry. The patriarch paid no attention to 
this intelligence ; but the metropolitan, seeing the strange effect 
that it produced in the country, gave personal intimation of it to 
the Czar. Boris, alarmed as at the appearance of a spectre, 
immediately directed Smirnoff Wassilief, one of his secretaries, 
to despatch an order for the banishment of the monk of Tschu- 
dow to the most remote part of the empire. Smirnoff having 
communicated the Czar's order to Eupheane, one of his col- 
leagues, the latter immediately informed the young monk 
of it, and afforded him the means of escape. The person 
calling himself Dmitry fled from Tschudow, accompanied by 
two monks who determined to share his fortunes. They pro- 
ceeded together towards Kiov, taking care to sleep nowhere 
but in convents. In the cell given to the fugitive, in the monas- 
tery of Novogorod-Sewersky, he left a note to the following 
effect: 

" I am the Czarowitz Dmitry, son of Ivan IV. When I am 
restored to the throne of my ancestors, I shall always remember 
the kind treatment I have received in this holy house." 

The archimandrite, to whom this writing was delivered, made 
no report on the subject to his superiors, but kept the note and 
said nothing. Another circumstance equally strange is, that the 
monk's escape was concealed, from the Czar, who thought he had 
set out for the place of his exile. 



190 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Tte person thus assuming to be Dmitry, was known in his 
convent by the name of Grischka ; and, according to the par- 
tisans of Boris, was no other than the son of a poor gentleman 
of Galitsch, named Youri OtrepiefF. But whether this young 
man was the son of OtrepiefF, or whether he was the true 
Dmitry, he was resolute, well-informed, and gifted with the 
noblest qualities. From early boyhood he had liyed in the 
families of Romanoff and Scherkaski, both deadly foes of the 
usurper, and ultimately his victims. Tired of a life of depend- 
ence, he had become a monk, but his vows were not irrevoca- 
ble. For some time, he had led a Avandering life, often changing 
his convent, and apparently a prey to the deepest melancholy, 
which was remarked by all who beheld him. At length the 
patriarch Job, having visited the monastery of Tschudow, to 
which Grischka had ultimately retired, was so struck with his 
talents and information, that he appointed him his secretary, 
and took him to reside at the palace of the Czars. Whether 
the sight of the usurper agitated the real Dmitry, or whether 
the sight of the regal magnificence around him inflamed the 
ambition of the adventurer Otrepieff, the result was the same : 
Grischka was unhappy in his new office, and returned to his 
monastery. Having there stated that he was the Czarowitz 
Dmitry, he was condemned to exile ; but many thought that 
Boris, instead of punishing an impostor, was only striking a 
second time the victim whose birthright he had usurped. 

The fugitive, after a long journey on foot, and encountering 
many perils, at length reached Poland, then the ordinary place 
of refuge for the enemies of the Russian government. There, 
for a Ahile, he thought it prudent to conceal himself, and give 
no intimation of his rank either real or assumed. During se- 
veral months he found an asylum in the palace of the Palatine 
of Kiov and Red Russia; he then went to reside with Prince 
Adam Wisniowiecki. It was at the palace of this prince that 
he first let fall some hints respecting his birth and misfortunes. 
Prince Adam introduced him to his brother Constantine, who 
was brother-in-law to George Mniszech, Palatine of Sandomir, 



MARINA MNISZECH. 191 

the father of that Marina to whom the weird woman of the 
Lithuanian forest had predicted that she would become a queen. 
Through Constantine, Grischka contracted an intimacy with the 
Palatine and his lovely daughter, both of whom took so strong an 
interest in his fate, as at length to persuade themselves that he 
was the instrument through which the prediction was to be 
accomplished. 

One evening, in the midst of a very interesting conversation 
relative to this young man, now suspected to be the resus- 
citated Czarowitz of Moscovy, Prince Adam Wisniowiecki wa^ 
informed that his guest had suddenly been seized with fever, 
and that the symptoms were of the most alarming kind. The 
sick bed of the youthful stranger was immediately surrounded by 
his new friends, who nursed him with the most sedulous care. 
But the physician declared that there was no hope of his recovery, 
and the patient himself feeling that he was dying, asked for a 
priest. It must be recollected that the fugitive had not yet 
positively stated that he was Dmitry, but had only given ground 
for surmise. 

In Prince Adam's palace, resided a Catholic priest of the 
Order of Jesus, named Father Gaspard Sawicki. He it was 
who, ever since the arrival of Dmitry, or Grischka Otrepie;^, 
had instructed him in the Polish language. The reverend father 
was now broiight to the patient''s bedside, and every other per- 
son withdrew to an adjoining gallery- 
It was a solemn moment. Marina, whose expectations, di- 
rected towards a throne from her very infancy, seemed but a 
few hours past on the point of being realized, could not help 
shuddering at the disappointment which threatened the dearest 
hopes of her life, and her heart bled as she thought of this victim 
of lawless ambition, who had reached Poland but to die. If 
his life were spared, his love might encircle her brow with a 
diadem. He was, moreover, young, handsome, and valiant ; 
she loved him with true aifection, and exclusively of her 
feelings of ambition, the thought of his death filled her with 
despair. Her father, whose dreams of royalty were vanishing 



192 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

at the very moment tliey seemed ready to be realized, was 
wrapped in gloomy meditation. The other individuals present, 
though interested in a much less degree than the Palatine and 
his daughter, were nevertheless, from their wish to excite trou- 
bles in Russia, most anxious to save the young man's life. No 
one present had any doubt of the rank and pretensions of the 
person in whom they all felt so deeply interested. It is true, 
he had yet not declared that he was the Czarowitz ; but a 
circumstance which had occurred only a few days before, to- 
gether with the hints he had let fall before his illness, gave 
con-istency to the supposition. 

During his delirium, in the height of his fever, he had al- 
ways shown an instinctive eagerness to conceal something which 
he wore next to his bosom. At length, when in a complete 
swoon, he could not prevent those around him from gratifying 
their curiosity. The object, suspended to a riband round his 
neck, was a cross of diamonds and rubies of extraordinary value, 
and such as, in those days and in that country, a sovereign 
alone could possess. On recovering his senses, and finding that 
his cross had been seen, he seemed greatly agitated, and re- 
fusing to answer the questions put to him, again fell senseless 
upon his pillow. These fainting fits succeeded each other so 
rapidly, that he considered his end was approaching, and called 
for spiritual assistance. 

When the Jesuit entered the gallery where the two families 
of Mniszech and AVisniowiecki, and their friends, were waiting 
for him, his look was serious, and his expressive countenance indi- 
cated that he had become the depositary of an important secret. 

" My lord,"' said he, to Prince Wisniowiecki, " what I have 
to relate can be communicated only to the members of your 
family.'*'' 

Every person withdrew except the prince, his kinsman the 
Palatine, and the fair Marina. 

" Prince,"* said the priest with great agitation, " our surmises 
are just : the unhappy man now dying under your roof, is 
Prince Dmitrv, the son of Ivan, Czar of Moscow." 



MARINA MNISZFXH. 193 

Marina uttered an involuntary scream. 

" He lias just confided this secret to me," added tlie Jesuit ; 
'' but not by way of confession, for he belongs not to the 
Latin rite. The sufferings he has undergone must have been 
dreadful- — and he greatly suffers still. It is horrible thus to 
die, far from his native land, with not a relative to close his 
eyes or drop a tear upon his grave. The man who inflicted 
this wretchedness upon him, will have a terrible account to 
render to his Maker !'' 

Marina Avept. 

" Is there no hope of his recovery ?" she asked in agony. 

" I left him very ill,"" the priest replied ; " he was quite 
overcome by his exertion in speaking to me. The physician 
has ordered him to be kept very quiet, but gives no hope of 
his recovery.'' 

The Palatine was struck with consternation. 

" But what did Dmitry say to you ?"" said he to the Jesuit, 
after a long pause. 

" Very little," the latter replied ; " but that little spoke vo- 
lumes. This writing will explain the rest." 

So saying, he presented a roll of parchment to the two 
princes, who opened it and read as follows : 

" The corpse before you, whether you find it covered with 
wounds upon the highway, or fleshless, clad in rags, and dead 
from cold or starvation, and lying under a church porch, is the 
body of your sovereign, Dmitry Ivanowitz, Czar of Moscovy. 
At the moment I am about to appear before God, to whom I 
appeal for the truth of this statement, I hereby declare that I am 
the only legitimate heir to the throne of Moscovy, which be- 
longed to my father, the Czar Ivan IV. Boris GodunofF is 
my murderer : he coveted the crown, but was unable to seize 
it, until he had tinged his hands with my blood. My mother 
and I were sent to Ouglitsch, and my murderers, acting by the 
command of Boris, came to that place in search of me. My 
waiting-maid, who had sold herself to these men, agreed to de- 
liver me up to them, and I should have perished ; — but a German 



194 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

named Simon, knowing the hour at which the murder w^as to take 
place, dressed another child in my clothes, and this victim was sa- 
crificed in my stead. It was almost dark, and the murderers were 
imposed upon. Simon concealed m.e till the next day, and then 
fled with me at the risk of his life. He soon after died. I was 
still a child, but the horror of my situation was revealed to me 
by the intensity of the danger, as to one of -more advanced 
vears. I remained deserted and proscribed, without being able 
to forget, during a single moment, that my place was upon a 
throne. Pray for my soul ! Dmitry Ivanowitz." 

" Is he dead ?'' asked the Palatine of Sandomir, after reading 
this scroll, which had been written before Dmitry reached 
Poland. 

" Oh !"' cried Marina, wringing her hands, " is there not the 
least hope ?'^ 

The palatine had fallen into a deep reverie. Suddenly start- 
ing, he encircled his daughter in his arms, kissed her on the 
forehead, and entreated she would be composed. 

" If he is really the son of Ivan," said he, " we can imme- 
diately ascertain the fact. There are two individuals here at 
Sandomir, who well knew the Czarowitz Dmitry, having spent a 
whole year near his person at Ouglitsch. One is a gentleman 
attached to the household of Prince Sapieha, the other, one of 
my own retainers. Let both be sent for." 

These witnesses came and immediately recognised Dmitry. 
Not only were his features unchanged, but they knew^ him by a 
mole on one side of his forehead, and from his having one arm 
shorter than the other. 

Meanwhile, the unhappy prince remained senseless. His 
disease was struggling against a powerful constitution and the 
vigour of youth. The sufferer seemed to care little for life, and 
yet it trimnphed over his complaint : the crisis of the disorder 
came on, and favourable s}Tnptoms followed. Marina and her 
father were unremitting in theii* attentions to the sick prince, 
whom they tenderly nursed, and treated with the respect due to 
the Czar of Moscow. 



MARINA MNISZECII. 195 

Marina'^s affection for Dmitry soon ripened into a passion, 
which became interwoven with her existence. Her heart deeply 
sympathized with the firmly tempered soul of the Czarowitz — 
with that soul dominated by the thought of power and re- 
venge, and to whom any intermediate station betwixt the monk's 
cowl and the royal purple was of no value. For him there were 
only two stations upon earth : that of priest, or that of Czar. 

" For my part,"' he would say to Marina as she lent him 
the support of her arm to assist his still weak and emaciated 
limbs, and gently led him to the palace garden to breathe a 
purer air — " life oiFers me but two abodes : the palace of a 
sovereign, or a cloister." 

As the fair Pole listened to him, her eyes would fill with 
tears ; but they were the tears shed by a fond and heroic 
woman when she hears the voice of a beloved being giving 
utterance to noble and lofty feelings. She adored this young 
man of haughty brow and piercing look; and his accents were 
music to her ears, when they pourtrayed the workings of a 
powerful and cultivated mind, coupled with the abrupt and 
almost rustic manners he had acquired during a life of mis- 
fortune and adventure. To her, he appeared a being of strange 
nature, full of charms, and contrasts, and fascination. 

Dmitry soon returned her affection with equal ardour. He 
could not, without being touched to the soul, behold this lovely 
girl, beaming with lofty and bold enthusiasm ; neither could he 
see her devotion to himself without identifying her with his own 
being. \ He therefore exchanged with her vow^s of everlasting love : 
not that insipid love which gratifies ordinary minds, but the bold 
and blind devotion resulting from the contact of two hearts excited 
by the same feelings, and big with the same thoughts of noble 
daring.K Dmitry had found, in the gentle and lovely attendant on 
his sick couch, a heroine Avorthy to share his life of danger ; and 
Marina saw in the royal exile, a being cast in the noblest mould 
of the creation, and capable of the greatest and most heroic deeds. 
Her ambition had wholly merged into her affection, and she 
cared little for a crown, if not to be shared with Dmitry. 



196 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

"Willingly would slie have united her fate to his, without a 
thought about the uncertainty of reconquering his rights ; but 
the wily Palatine was more prudent, and though he encouraged 
the affection of the young people, he made their union a condi- 
tion only of Dmitry^s success in recovering the throne of his 
ancestors. 

The Czarowitz having now thrown aside all reserve, com- 
municated to the Palatine the relations he had kept up with Rus- 
sia, where he had a very strong party. At length on the 25 th 
of May 1604, Dmitry Czar of Muscovy, and George ^Iniszech, 
signed, at the palace of Samber, a treaty by which Dmitry en- 
gaged to marry JSIarina, the Palatine''s daughter, the moment 
he was acknowledged Czar by the Muscovite nation, giving to 
her and her heirs, in full and absolute sovereignty, the Duchies 
of Great Novogorod and Pskow. He further solemnly pledged 
himself to build a Catholic church for her, in which she shoidd 
have the free and uncontrolled exercise of her religion. He 
likewise agreed to pay a million of ducats ' to the Palatine of 
Sandomir. An additional clause, insisted upon by the Jesuit 
Gaspard Sawicki, stipulated that the Czar should, at any price, 
establish the Catholic religion in Moscovy. 

Shortly after the conclusion of this treaty, Sigismund III. 
who had received from George ^Nlniszech, a very favourable 
account of the fugitive prince, invited him to his court, and 
received him in a manner worthy of his rank and pretensions. 

" God keep you, Dmitry !" said Sigismund ; " you are 
welcome at our com-t ; and from the proofs given of your 
identity, we acknowledge you to be the legitimate sovereign of 
Moscovy. Moreover, considering you our friend, and under our 
especial protection, we give you authority to treat with the 
gentlemen of our kingdom, granting them, also, permission to 
yield you aid and good counsel."" 

The same day, Sigismund assigned him a pension of forty 
thousand florins. 

Nevertheless, the king of Poland could not act without the 
consent of the diet, and John Zamoiskv, who had great influence 



MARINA MNFSZFXII. 197 

in that assembly, was opposed to an expedition against Moscovy. 
Sigismund therefore, though strongly urged, by George Mniszech, 
to commence hostilities against the usurper Boris, was forced 
to limit his aid to privately protecting Dmitry, and secretly 
supplying him with pecuniary means for his undertaking. Ma- 
rina, though her ambition was no longer selfish, but wholly sub- 
servient to the interests of the Czarowitz, personally entreated her 
countrymen to serve the cause of the exiled prince, and succeed- 
ed in gaining a considerable number who enrolled themselves 
under the banner of legitimacy. They were all ardent young 
men, eager to punish a usurper who had raised himself to a 
throne by murder. This little army, full of valour and enthu- 
siasm, assembled in the neighbourhood of Leopol ; Dmitry 
placed himself at its head, and won its affection by his noble 
and undaunted bearing. Each of his followers was convinced that 
he would yield to no obstacle, and accept no alternative between 
death and the recovery of the throne of Ivan. 

The strength ofDmitry''s forces was soon increased by the 
arrival of a large body of Moscovite refugees. The blood of 
Rurick the Great was in high veneration among the Russians, 
and Dmitry was the last of that race. His great grandfather 
had given laws to Russia ; his father had conquered the Tartars, 
and valour was hereditary in the family. The latter quality 
among a people wholly warlike, effaced many defects. The 
name of Dmitry therefore, carried with it a spell which brought 
thousands to his standard, and he was joined by all the nobles 
who still adhered to his house. Thus, when he crossed the 
Dneiper, on the 16th of October, 1604, he was at the head of 
an army which filled the usurper with dismay. 

Boris now trembled on his blood-stained throne; he felt con- 
vinced that unless he exerted his whole strength, he should fall 
before his powerful enemy, whose claims he had no doubt would 
be acknowledged by the whole nation, if the invading army were 
not at once destroyed. He therefore collected a force of eighty 



i98 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

thousand men, and sent it against the impostor, as he teraied 
Dmitry, with strict orders to John Schouisky, the general in 
command, to bring him the pretender's head. 

This immense host seemed calculated to put a speedy term to 
the hopes of Dmitry, whose army amounted to only fifteen thou- 
sand men. But the invaders had confidence in the righteousness 
of their cause ; the troops of Boris were nerveless and wavering. 
The Poles, forming about a third of Dmitry's forces, demanded 
to be led on to instant battle, and the Czarowitz gladly complied 
with their wishes ; but before the strife began, he advanced in 
front of his army, and falling upon his knees, uttered the fol- 
lowing prayer in a loud voice : 

" O God, who knowest my heart, grant that, if my cause is 
just, I may obtain victory over my enemies ; but if it is unjust, 
let thy thunder fall upon me and destroy me immediately as a 
sacrilegious impostor.'' 

The battle began, and raged with fury. The carnage was 
dreadful, and both armies, ankle deep in blood, fought over the 
dead bodies of their companions. The Moscovite force was an- 
nihilated, and Dmitry was preparing to follow up his victory, when 
Boris escaped chastisement by dying the death of a just man. 
He expired peaceably at Moscow as a legitimate sovereign, and 
his son Fcfidor Borissowitz, ascended his unsettled throne. But 
the death of the father had changed the son's destiny; and when 
Dmitry appeared before Moscow, Romanoff joined his ranks 
and acknowledged him Czar. This example was followed 
throughout the empire, and the partisans who still adhered to 
the dynasty of Boris, were soon overthrown. Dmitry entered 
Moscow in triumph, and was hailed by the people with shouts of 
joy. The bells of the churches rang in merry peals, and flowers 
were thrown upon the young Czar as he passed. There was a de- 
lirium of joy throughout the land, which was increased, at Moscow, 
by the appearance of the noble and handsome Czarowitz and the 
romantic tale of his wrongs and suflferings. 

Irene, the mother of Dmitry, had retired, shortly after his 
supposed death, to a convent at Moscow, where she lived in the 



MARINA MNISZECH. 199 

strictest seclusion. The moment the ceremony of the entry was 
concluded, Dmitry hastened to this convent and begged his 
mother's blessing. Irene tenderly embraced him, acknowledged 
him to be her son, and the very next day he was publicly 
crowned as the legitimate Czar of Moscovy. A dreadful storm 
which blew down the cross, and stopped the procession for a 
time, seemed however of bad augury, and awakened the super- 
stition which acts so powerfully upon the people of the North. 
But when Dmitry was afterwards seen to throw himself upon 
his father's grave, wet it with his tears, and demand vengeance 
for the grief with which the latter years of Ivan's life had been 
afflicted, the fears of the people were appeased, for they gave 
faith to this burst of feeling, which spoke volumes in favour of 
their new sovereign. 

Dmitry being now peaceably seated on his father's throne, 
was anxious that the woman of his love should immediately 
shai'e it with him. A solemn and splendid embassy was accord- 
ingly sent to Sandomir to demand the hand of Marina for the 
Czar of Moscovy. This mission was entrusted to Athanasius 
Wassilief. Thus, was the sibyl's prediction accomplished, and 
the ambitious dreams of the Palatine realized. 

Before Marina left Poland, her marriage was solemnised at 
Cracow with the ceremonial customary at the espousals of sove- 
reigns. Followed by a splendid and numerous cortege, she pro- 
ceeded to th€ palace of Firley, which had been selected for the 
(Occasion. Here she was received by Sigismund III. who, 
according to the form used in those days, granted her in mar- 
riage to the Czar Dmitry. The Moscovite ambassador then 
solemnly wedded her in the name of his Master ; the King of 
Poland giving her away, and the Archduchess Constancia of 
Austria, betrothed to Sigismund, acting as her mother. A 
considerable number of Polish nobles, all of the Catholic rite, 
were present at the ceremony, as was likewise Monsignore Ran- 
goni the Pope's nuncio. Cardinal Macceiowski gave the nuptial 
blessing to the young Czarina, whose utmost wishes were now 
gratified with the double crown of royalty and mutual love. 



200 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

She set out next day for Russia, and her journey was a con- 
tinued scene of festivity and rejoicing. Even in the sterile 
forms of etiquette, she could detect proofs of the strength and 
delicacy of Dmitry's affection ; and this continued throughout 
the long and tedious distance she had to travel. It seemed 
that, though the Czar could not be with her, his presence -was 
indicated everj-where by those nameless attentions which love 
alone can dictate. 

On the 13th of April 1605, Marina reached the frontier of 
Moscovy. Here, the life of which she had dreamt in her youth, 
began to open in reality. before her. She here contemplated the 
love of Dmitry, more valuable to her than all besides, side by side 
with the power of royalty ; and that ambition which, at a later 
period of her life and when he was no more, was to eradicate his 
remembrance from her heart, then lay dormant, being only sub- 
servient to the affection of her heart. She would willingly have 
foregone the conventional pomp with which she was surrounded, 
to have travelled alone with Dmitry, as a private individual. 

Wherever she passed, the clergy came to meet her, offering 
her bread and salt. Costly stuffs, and rare furs, the tribute of 
the tribes inhabiting the banks of the Obi, and which gold could 
not purchase, were daily presented to her in the name of the 
Czar ; whilst magnificent sledges sparkling with gold and precious 
gems, transported her with the rapidity of the wind to the diffe- 
rent palaces prepared for her reception during the journey, which 
seemed to her one of enchantment. At length, on the 18th of 
May, she arrived in the neighbourhood of Moscow, where she 
was obliged to stop in order to offer a fresh sacrifice to courtly 
etiquette. Tents were pitched for the great nobles of the Em- 
pire, who came to do homage to the Czarina, prior to her coro- 
nation. This ceremony being over, she entered Moscow^ in the 
midst of a prostrate and delighted populace invoking all the 
blessing-s of Heaven upon her union with their beloved Czar. 
Marina was dazzling with beauty, and her faultless and delicate 
features received a new charm from reflecting the emotions which 
this glorious consummation of her hopes had raised in her 



MARINA MNISZECH. 201 

bosom. With tears of delight and tenderness, as she fondly in- 
dulged in dreams of happiness, she smiled upon the crowd around 
her, and silently blessed the subjects of her royal consort. 

In this manner she proceeded to the convent of the Virgins, 
in which the Czarina Irene resided. Here, she beheld Dmitry 
for the first time since their separation ; but no longer as a 
wandering fugitive exposed to herd with the refuse of mankind, 
or to die of starvation in a desert : he was now a powerful 
monarch, proud in his strength, and glowing with manly 
beauty. 

Marina remained with Irene until the day of her coronation. 
In the morning of that day she proceeded to the Kremlin, and was 
received in the crenated hall, by the principal boyards, and the 
Ambassadors of the different Sovereigns of Europe. Having 
taking her seat upon the throne, Michael Nagoi presented to 
her the crown of Monomach, and the diadem of Czarina, both of 
which she devoutly kissed. Basile Schouisky then addressed 
her in the name of the nobles of the empire. The cortege now 
set out for the Church of the Assumption, where the double 
ceremony of her coronation and the confirmation of her marriage, 
was to take place. 

The street through which the royal couple passed, was spread 
with scarlet velvet and cloth of gold, and tufts of flowers were 
strewed along their path. The artillery of the fortress thun- 
dered, the bells of the churches sent their lengthened vibrations 
through the air, and the windows of every house, adorned with 
emblazoned flags, were crowded with spectators invoking the 
favour of Heaven upon their Czar and his beauteous bride. 
Nature herself, in all her pomp at this season of the year, 
seemed willing to contribute to the splendour of the day : the 
weather was beautiful, and the sun shed broad floods of golden 
light upon the cupolas of the old Moscovite city, which sparkled 
with a thousand reflected fires. 

On reaching the church, the royal pair ascended a raised plat- 
form, erected in the middle of the great aisle. The Czar seated 
himself upon a throne of gold, sent to him by the Shah of 



202 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Persia for this solemn occasion, and Marina occupied one of 
silver. On a sign being made by the patriarch, the Czarina's 
women, among whom were the daughters of the first nobles in the 
land, approached her and took off the coronet which she had 
hitherto worn. She then knelt before the patriarch, who rested 
the holy cross upon her head. At this moment clouds of in- 
cense arose and curled slowly round the pillars of the old 
church ; the organ rolled its religious harmony through the 
building, and a hundred pure and youthful voices chaunted a 
solemn h}Tnn in honour of the royal nuptials. When the hymn 
was concluded, the patriarch placed the golden chain of Mono- 
mach round the neck of the bride, and anointed and consecmted 
her Czarina of Moscovy. She then received the sacrament, and 
resumed her seat upon her silver throne. 

When the ceremony was over, the youthful pair, radiant 
with beauty considerably heightened at this moment when 
all the feelings of their hearts were gratified, descended from 
the platform, holding each other by the hand. Both wore a 
crown, and both were covered with the imperial mantle. On 
reaching the church door, they stopped, and Prince Mscislawski 
threw over them, according to the old ^Mosco^dte custom, a 
profusion of small silver coin, which he took from a consecrated 
vessel. A great quantity was also thro^vn among the people, 
and this day was long borne in remembrance by the poor of 
Moscow. 

During a whole month the most sumptuous festivities cele- 
brated Marina's marriage and coronation. The love which 
Dmitry felt for her, was especially manifested by banquets and 
balls, at which the luxuries of Asia doubled the advantages ju^t 
introduced, by the good taste of AVestem nations, into the deserts 
of Russia. And yet the sky was already beginning to lower : 
clouds were slowly gathering upon the horizon ; and Marina 
lulled to sleep with sounds of rejoicing, and happy in the affec- 
tion of her husband, saw nothing of the tempest which was about 
to burst. 

It is no doubt a great mis^rtune for a monarch to be in 



MARINA MNISZECIf. 203 

advance of his subjects in knowledge, wlien he cannot bring 
himself to bend to the ignorance around him, or is devoid of 
power sufficient to force civilization upon those over whom he 
reigns. Dmitry had dwelt too long in Poland not to be 

sensible of the reforms which the Russians had to undergo 

o 

before they could become a great nation. Peter the Great, who 
came after him, notwithstanding the light which had been shed 
upon the human intellect, since the days of Dmitry, was un- 
able, even with all his power, to realize these reforms, except 
at the sacrifice of torrents of blood. But Dmitry, seated upon 
a throne tottering not only under its own weight, but under 
that of every monarch who dared to attempt innovation, or 
aim at raising his people from the state of brutal degradation 
in which they grovelled, soon experienced the fickleness and 
inveterate prejudices of the savages whom he governed. He 
was accused of surrounding himself with foreigners, and re- 
serving all his favours for Poles. Being of an independent 
and intractable disposition, he determined to act as he thought 
proper, and follow his inclinations by patronising the country- 
men of a wife he adored. He was further strengthened in 
this determination by an idea that the Poles in his dominions 
might assist in civilizing his own subjects. But there were other 
and more serious causes of discontent : they struck at the root 
of those superstitions which, even to this day, have not been 
completely eradicated in Russia. 

Veal, at the period to which this narrative refers, was a food 
prohibited among the Moscovites. Dmitry was eager to abolish 
so puerile a prejudice, without reflecting that it was not a 
material evil, but only a silly and inveterate superstition ; 
and that great precaution and delicacy Avere therefore necessary. 
He openly ate veal, and when TatistchefF made him a pub- 
lic remonstrance on the subject, his only reply was a smile of 
contempt. 

But a more important crime in the eyes of the Russians, 
especially the descendants of those old boyards, who had been the 
supporters of the Dukes of Moscovy, was the obstinacy displayed 

p 2 ' 



204 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

by the Czar in wearing the Polish dress. Nothing could pal- 
liate this contempt of old customs — this spirit of innovation. 
To forego the long awkward gown, unshorn beard, and filthy 
habits of the ancient Moscovites, was the worst species of sacri- 
lege, and could be expiated only with the blood of the offender. 

Conspiracies were soon formed against Dmitry, and the houses 
of public entertainment at Moscow became places of meeting 
for the malcontents. There, treasonable conversations were 
held ; there, the identity of Dmitry was again called in question, 
and the verisimilitude discussed of those very facts which the 
inhabitants of Moscow had, only a few months before, received 
as incontrovertible, and admitted with rapture. In a short time 
the plots of the disaffected assumed an alarming consistence ; 
and the banner of rebellion was raised to the cry of : 

" Hatred and death to all foreigners."" 

Basile Ivanowitz Schouisky, the same who had addressed 
Marina in the name of the Russian nobility, was the chief of 
the insurgents. A rising was to have taken place at Moscow ; 
but the plot was discovered, and Schouisky arrested. He was 
tried for high treason, and condemned to death. His execution 
would have followed but for Marina, who, associating him with 
the glorious day of her coronation, solicited and obtained his 
pardon. At the moment of signing it, however, Dmitry hesi- 
tated — a dark foreboding stopped his hand: he was impressed 
with the idea that his clemency would prove fatal to himself 
and Marina. 

" Why do you wish me to pardon this man ?'" said he to the 
Czarina, with a smile of sadness ; " really I cannot sign this 
paper.'' 

Marina turned pale ; she thought her influence over Dmitry 
was beginning to decline. From this mistaken feeling, she ap- 
proached the Czar, and placing her arm round his neck, drew 
him gently towards her ; then kissing his forehead, she fixed 
upon him that velvet eye, and look of fondness, the power of 
which had never vet failed. 



MARINA MNISZECH. 205 

" Do it for me," she said, in a tone of witchery ; " sign it for 
my sake ? I cannot bear that this man should die." 

Her blandishments were irresistible : Dmitry pressed her to 
his bosom — and signed ; — but, alas ! it proved to be his own 
death-warrant. 

One evening — it w^as the 16th of May 1607 — the weather 
was stormy, and the dust flew up in wdiirling eddies through the 
vast fields wdiich separated the palaces at Moscow from each other. 
The rain began to pour down in torrents, and every one sought a 
place of shelter. The houses of public entertainment, in which 
the warm beverage peculiar to the Russians was sold, were soon 
crowded. In a corner of the public room at one of these houses, 
sat a man whose face was half concealed by the fur of his cap. 
His mouth alone was distinctly visible, and upon his lips played 
a smile of bitter malignancy. At times, an involuntary motion 
of his body disclosed, under the folds of a large cloak, the em- 
broidered dress, gold chain, and jewelled sword-hilt of a boyard; 
but the stranger immediately drew his cloak around him, and 
evidently wished to remain unnoticed among the numerous guests 
who had crowded into the apartment. 

He appeared to listen very attentively to what was uttered by 
another individual, who was holding forth to his countrymen, 
and discussing the relative merits of the Russians and Poles. 
It was evident that the orator was a true son of Moscovy, faith- 
ful to its customs, and ready to shed his blood in their defence. 
He was tall, of athletic frame, and his features bore the stamp 
of a lofty and highly tempered soul. Opinions were soon offered 
in opposition to his, the contending parties raised their voices, 
and the Russian appeared to become animated in spite of him- 
self. Unable at length to keep his feelings under control, he 
rushed into the street, and w^alked rapidly from the tavern, 

braving the pelting storm, the violence of which increased every 
moment. 

" Glory to God, and greeting to Kosma,'^ said a voice near 
him. The Russian turned suddenly round, and saw close to 
him the mysterious stranger whom he had left at the tavern. 



206 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" What is your will ?" said he to this individual ; " and how- 
am I known to you ?" 

" I have seen Kosma Minim,'^ the other replied, " face to face 
with the enemies of his country. At Nijena, I saw him assist 
his unfortunate fellow-citizens with money — I likewise saw him, 
before the elders of his family, defend the interests of his coun- 
trymen, against his own kinsmen. Is this the same man whom 
I have just beheld fraternizing with our tyrants ?'''' 

The unknown threw open his cloak, and by the light of a 
lamp biu-ning before an image of St. Nicholas, the Russian re- 
cognised the insignia of high rank. He uncovered his head — 
the unknown made a sign of secresy. 

" Silence, Kosma," said he ; " tell me, art thou still a true 
child of old Moscovy ?'' 

" God is my witness that I am !'' Kosma replied, raising his 
hands and eyes to Heaven. 

" I ask for no oaths,"" said the stranger, " I want thee to act 
— wilt thou do so .^" 

" Against whom ?'''' asked the Russian. 

At this moment a body of yovmg men on horseback, and in 
the Polish uniform, galloped past them, shouting, singing, and 
flourishing drawn swords in their hands. One of them, pass- 
ing close to Kosma, lifted off the Russian's cap on the point of 
his sword, and flung it into the mud. The whole party laughed 
heartily, and were soon out of sight. Kosma picked up his cap, 
the fur of which was soiled. Having wiped and replaced it upon 
his head, he slowly returned to the unknown, but his looks 
were gloomy and fierce, and his emotion so great that he could 
scarcely breathe. 

" Well V said the boyard, " what thinkest thou at present of 
thy brethren the Poles ? Why didst thou not lay thee down 
beneath their horses' feet to serve as good litter P""* 

A hoarse and bitter exclamation issued from the bosom of the 
insulted Russian. 

" Damnation !"" he cried, striking his forehead with his two 
clenched fists. '' O my God, give me counsel !"' Then draw- 



MARINA MNISZECII. 207 

ing himself up with dignity, " Prince Schouisky,'' said he to 
the boyard, who with a look of malignant satisfaction watched 
his motions, " the Poles have no doubt made an improper use 
of their influence over the Czar ; but we ought never to for- 
get that to Poland we owe the best jewel of our monarchy : it 
was Poland that restored to us the last drop of the precious 
blood of Rurick the Great."" 

Schouisky replied with a savage smile, to this burst of ge- 
nerous feeling. " The blood of Rurick !" he cried. '' And 
art thou one among the small number of dolts who still be- 
lieve in that fable ? Dmitry was killed, and has never risen 
from his grave. This man is an impostor. Say, Kosma, wilt 
thou contribute to the preservation of thy country ?'"* 

" In what manner, Prince ?'* 

" Look ! what seest thou upon those doors ?"'* 

" Red crosses,"' replied Kosma. 

■" Well !"" said the prince, " that mark is upon the door of 
every hated Pole. It announces that these foreigners will to- 
night sleep their last sleep. The sun shall rise no more for them. 
Depart forthwith for Nijeni, Kosma, and do in that city the 
same deed of patriotism which by to-morrow"s dawn will have 
been consummated at Moscow." 

For a moment Kosma made no reply. 

"If Dmitry is an impostor,"" said he at length, " then let 
him die. But if he were not so ? "" — and the expressive coun- 
tenance of the honest patriot told the ambitious boyard that the 
arm of Kosma would be raised to punish guilt, but never to 
strike an innocent victim. 

" I have the means of knowing the truth,"" added the noble- 
minded Russian; " and then, whatever my conviction may be, 
I will do my duty."" 

So saying, he took oj9f his cap to the boyard, saluted him with 
deep respect, though without meanness, and immediately de- 
parted. Schouisky looked at him with an undefinable ex- 
pression as he withdrew. 

" Well ! well !"" said he, " go thy way, and considt thy 



208 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

oracle Pojarski. Concert together, if ye list, while we act. 
When all is consummated, you will tell us whether we have 
done riorht or wrono-.'"' 

Kosma, or Cousiema Minim, was a butcher of Nijeni-Novo- 
gorod, who, from his noble character and the services he had ren- 
dered his country, had acquired the greatest popularity among 
his fellow-citizens. His will was law among his townsmen, and a 
word from him would have brought them all under his banner to 
embrace any undertaking he might command, or brave any dan- 
ger to which he might lead them. The noble uprightness of his 
character is fully displayed in the conversation I have just re- 
lated. Kosma had the most unbounded confidence in Prince 
Pojarski, a man of liberal and just notions, and extraordinary 
talent, who, had he lived a century later, would have conferred 
immense benefits upon Russia. These tw^o men were connected 
by a kindred feeling : each had the same object at heart — the 
good of his country ; and however strong their prejudice in fa- 
vour of the barbarous customs of the old Moscovites, their un- 
dertakings were founded upon the highest feelings of honour and 
patriotism. 

It was natural that Schouisky should be anxious to secure the 
co-operation of such men ; and the best means of doing so was 
first to win over the citizen of Nijeni to his plans. But the 
straightforward honesty of Kosma completely foiled the wily 
boyard. 

On the morning of the 17th of May, the day after their inter- 
view, the inmates of the Kremlin were aroused from their slum- 
bers by the sound of the tocsin, and the shouts of an infuriated 
multitude drunk with blood and murder. The unhappy Poles 
designated, as Schouisky had shown to Kosma the day before, 
had already been put to death, and the populace were about to 
attack the palace of the Czars. All the inmates of this ancient 
edifice were asleep and unsuspicious of danger. Since Dmitry 
had begun to reign, nothing but joy and festi\dty had been seen 
within its walls, no sounds heard but the song of happiness and 
the voice of affection. What a contrast was there now ! Bos- 



MARINA MNISZECH. 209 

inanofF, first gentleman of the Czar's bed-chamber, on hearing 
the shouts of the multitude, ran into the street, where he beheld 
TatistchefF at the head of a body of the people uttering shouts 
of vengeance. BosmanofF had once saved the life of this leader 
of the insurgents, but the service was forgotten, and the debt 
of gratitude paid by a stab with a dagger inflicted upon the half- 
dressed and unarmed nobleman. BosmanofF, though mortally 
wounded, had strength to reach the apartment adjoining the im- 
perial chamber, where he fell, crying out with his last breath : 

" Fly, Dmitry, son of Ivan — here's treachery — fly, or thou 
art lost V 

The Czar had already seized his arms, and placing himself at the 
head of a few of his guards, sallied forth and attacked the mul- 
titude. But the mass of insurgents increasing every moment, 
all who accompanied him were massacred, , and he was himself 
at last brought to the ground by a shot from an arquebuse. 
The people ran forward to despatch him ; but he raised himself 
upon one arm, and looking sternly at them, 

" Miserable wretches !'' he cried, " dare you kill your sove- 
reign ? I am Dmitry, the son of Ivan." 

The crowd drew back, abashed and trembling ; and perhaps 
the Czar's life might have been saved, had not Schouisky arrived 
just at this juncture. The boyard saw that the success of his 
attempt depended upon a single moment. The people hesi- 
tated. 

" If," said they, " this is truly the Czarowitz, what a crime 
we should have committed .!" And they looked with remorse at 
their lately beloved sovereign now lying before them covered 
with blood. 

'^ Friends and fellow-countrymen," cried Schouisky in a loud 
voice, " I had myself some scruples with regard to the identity 
of the man calling himself Dmitry Ivanowitz ; but I have been 
to the convent of the Virgins, where, on my knees, I entreated 
the Czarina, in the name of God, to declare the truth ; with sobs 
and tears, she confessed that she had only lent herself to a decep- 
tion, in order to be revenged upon the family of Boris GodunofF 



210 LINES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

for the murder of the real Dmitry. The man before you is not 
her son — he is an impostor."' 

This was sufficient : no steps "vvere taken to ascertain the 
truth of Schouisky's statement. He had not seen Irene, neither 
had she disowned Dmitry. But everything depended upon the 
action of the moment, and if the Czar escaped, the boyard's own 
life would pay the forfeit. He therefore unhesitatingly advanced 
the falsehood he had just uttered, and it was but too successful. 

The crowd again rushed towards the Czar and immediately 
despatched him. They then ran with cries of savage delight to 
Marina's apartment. A young page named Omolski, who had 
accompanied the Czarina from Poland, and whose name deserves 
to be handed down to posterity, defended the door of her cham- 
ber against the host of savages by whom it was assailed. For a 
time he kept the multitude at bay, but was at length shot, and 
the assailants entered the room over his dead body. Marina, 
whose firmness had never till this moment been brought into 
action, advanced with dignity towards the murderers. She at- 
tempted to address them — for though deeply afflicted at their 
rebellion, she had still hope, as she knew not then what she had 
lost ; but cries of rage covered her voice. A shot was fired and 
struck one of the Czarina's women, who had just placed herself 
before her royal mistress. This faithful attendant was a young 
Jewess whom Marina had saved from a forced union with a man 
she abhorred, and having afterwards made her fortune, gave her 
in marriage to a Polish gentleman named Chmielnicki. The 
powerless defence made by Marina's attendants was soon over- 
come, and the Czarina was about to fall a victim to the fury of the 
sanguinary rabble, when some of the principal boyards arrived and 
rescued her from their hands. In the course of this horrible day 
blood streamed in toiTents through the streets of Moscow, and 
brute force displaying the utmost refinement of hatred and cruelty, 
overcame and destroyed all who sought to raise the Russian na- 
tion from a state of the most abject savageness. Every Pole was 
butchered, with the exception of the Palatine Mniszech and the 
two princes Wisnowiecki. These alone had taken some precau- 



MARINA MNISZECH. 211 

tions as against a distant and unknown danger ; their foresight 
was due to an instinctive feeling arising from the well-known 
antipathy of the Russians to the Poles. On hearing of the out- 
break, they fortified themselves in their palace, where, unaided, 
they defended themselves with such determined obstinacy that the 
Moscovites agreed to spare their lives if they would surrender. 
Marina was placed in confinement with her father and her two 
relatives, and could now weep, without restraint, upon the bosom 
of her parent, for the loss of a beloved husband and a crown. 

Basile Schouisky reaped the fruit of his crime. By Dmi- 
try's death, the throne had become vacant. The wily boyard, 
however, made no claim for himself, nor did he designate any 
other individual ; but his birth was illustrious, and he had ac- 
quired great popularity by flattering the passions and preju- 
dices of the people. The merchants, in particular, were strongly 
attached to him, for he had always been a strenuous defender of 
their privileges. 

" It is useless to oppose him," said the boyards among them- 
selves ; " let us make a merit of placing him upon the throne." 

They immediately led him from the Kremlin to the great 
square, where they saluted him by the titles of Czar, and Father 
of the people. Basile Schouisky seated himself without com- 
punction upon a throne whose legitimate occupant he had treache- 
rously murdered. The presence of Marina and her father at 
Moscow was, however, a source of uneasiness to him. A party 
might be formed in their favour, and he might be hurled from 
his elevation much more easily than his predecessor. He there- 
fore sent them under a strong escort to Jaroslav on the Volga. 

But another cause of uneasiness soon convinced Schouisky 
that he would not be suffered peaceably to enjoy the throne of 
the murdered Dmitry. The massacre at Moscow had excited 
the utmost indignation in Poland, and the Polish blood spilt on 
that occasion required a signal punishment. Anxious to pre- 
vent any act of hostility, Schouisky set his Polish prisoners at 
liberty, and Marina was free to return to her native country. 
She accordingly took the road to Poland with a sad and aching 



212 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

heart, accompanied by her father. Though only twenty years of 
age, she was old in misfortune and suffering. She had been a wife 
and a queen, and was now a widowed outcast. Her father^s house 
was not a home for her : she had no home — no country — no hope ; 
all lay buried in the cold grave of her lost Dmitry. (She was now- 
travelling as a captive, through a land in which, but a few years 
since, the people had knelt on her passage and hailed her with 
shouts of joy, as the consort of their emperor. ' Her uncrowned 
head was shrowded with the widow's veil, the dark folds of 
which preserved her care-worn countenance from the scan of the 
passer-by. 

" O Dmitry ! my beloved, lost Dmitry !" would she often 
exclaim, wringing her hands, and shedding bitter tears, each of 
which fell like a drop of melted lead upon her heart, " why did 
I not follow thee to the grave ! To spare my life was to inflict 
upon me tenfold woe !'' 

One evening, just as the escort which was conveying her to the 
Polish frontier, had crossed one of those vast plains of sand and 
stunted birch-wood, termed steppes in Russia, a troop of horse- 
men suddenly appeared, attacked the guard, and put it to flight. 
Marina and her father, not supposing that they had any interest 
in this act, took but little heed of the conflict. "When it was 
over, they recognized in the commander of the horsemen, Stad- 
nicki, one of their kinsmen, who had served under Dmitry. 

" Madam,'' said he to the Czarina, " I am fortunate in being 
the first to announce the happiness that awaits you. At a short 
distance from this spot, you will find the Czar of Moscovy, at 
the head of a numerous army." 

" Dmitry !" exclaimed Marina, with an almost frantic shriek. 

" Yes, madam, and he is impatiently waiting for you. Having 
been saved by a miracle of Providence, he will soon again be 
master of the whole of Russia. Let me intreat that you will 
lose no time, for he is anxious you should join him immediately.'"' 

Marina was strangely perplexed. How could it happen, she 
thought, that Dmitry had a second time escaped from what 



MARINA MNISZECH. 213 

appeared certain death ? Her heart was unable to expand at 
the news, to which it seemed to give the lie ; her cheeks re- 
mained pale and sorrowful, and her sunken eyes rekindled not 
with the fire of hope. 

The Palatine felt no inclination to inquire further, for he to- 
tally disbelieved the story of Dmitry^s second resuscitation. But 
it little mattered to him who his pretended son-in-law might be, 
provided he wore a crown ; and he resolved to countenance the 
intrigue to which he had no doubt Stadnicki was a party. He 
therefore urged Marina to accompany their kinsman, and they 
took the road to Moscow, the Palatine full of confidence, and 
Marina trembling, agitated, and a prey to gloomy apprehensions. 

The particulars of Dmitry's escape, given by Stadnicki to the 
Palatine, as they journeyed on, were nevertheless sufficiently pro- 
bable to inspire Marina with a little more hope. The Czar, he 
said, had escaped from the Kremlin and ultimately from Moscow, 
through the subterraneous passages of the fortress. After a long 
and painful illness, he was at last able to get on horseback, and 
lead his forces to battle against the traitor Schouisky. He was 
at the head of a numerous army, which was increasing every 
day, and had been joined by Prince Rozynski, and Prince John 
Sapieha. The Czar was then encamped with his forces, on 
a plain about three leagues from Moscow. 

The travellers at length approached the camp where Ma- 
rina was informed she should again behold her lost Dmitry. 
No sooner was her name pronounced, than she was surround- 
ed by a multitude who, with a species of delirium, hailed 
her as their Czarina. She was so much affected by this re- 
ception, that with great difficulty she was prevented from faint- 
ing. The sound of military music, the brilliant uniforms 
and sparkling arms, the noise and shouts, the cries of " Long 
life to the Czarina — God bless our mother !'" — all this con- 
fused her, made her heart throb, and threw a haze over her 
already troubled eyesight. She at length recovered, and under 
the guidance of her father and Stadnicki, entered an enclosed 



214 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

field, at the further extremity of which she beheld a group of 
men magnificently dressed. One of them quitted the others 
and advanced towards her. 

Marina had never been able fully to convince herself that 
Dmitry was alive. No doubt she would have given her life to 
have brought him back from the grave ; but she knew that his 
murderers had spilt his blood to the very last drop, and however 
dear to her was the hope of his escape, she instinctively felt that 
it could not be realized. She had seen the fury of the people, 
thirsting for Dmitry's blood, exhaust itself upon the lifeless body 
of their victim ; and if she had for a moment yielded to an in- 
voluntary illusion, too pleasing to be rejected without evidence of 
its fallacy, it was with doubt and dread. The man who now 
approached the Czarina, bore not the slightest resemblance to 
the handsomb and noble Dmitry. His person was most repul- 
sive ; his countenance expressed none but the basest feelings ; 
his squinting eyes constantly sought the ground, and the vilest 
passions were pourtrayed in a hideous leer, which he meant 
for a smile of condescension and encouragement. Marina 
started as she gazed at him, and her blood froze as he cast 
upon her a look of malignant triumph. His featiu*es were 
familiar to her, and yet she could not associate them with 
any fact present to her recollection. Her mind was bewilder- 
ed, and she thought herself under the influence of a painful 
dream. She well knew the man, and her knowledge of him 
sent a thrill of horror through her frame, and yet she could 
not remember where she had seen him or who he was. While 
she was endeavouring to fix in her memory the name of the 
person who thus offered himself to her as Dmitry, he encir- 
cled her in his arms, and pressing her to his bosom, whispered 
these words in her ear : 

" Fair Marina, recollect you not the remote inn of the 
Zulosz forest ? You there deprived me of a bride, and a lovely 
one too ; but I now find one more lovely — a more noble spouse. 
A thousand thanks !" 



MARINA MNISZECH. 215 

Marina, with a shudder, tore herself from the grasp of the 
ruffian, and threw herself into her father's arms. 

" Take me hence,"" she cried, " or I shall die."'' 

The Palatine led her into a tent ; and as soon as she found 
herself alone with him, she gave way to the bitterness of her 
anguish, and was tbo much overcome to be able to explain the 
cause of her agitation, or who this man was. She wept bitterly, 
and nothing but stifled sobs burst from her lips. 

'•' Marina,'"* said her father calmly, " amid the many extraordi- 
nary events which have occurred, didst thou really believe that 
Dmitry had risen from his grave ? Could thy credulity so far 
beguile thy judgment ? No my child, thou couldst not have 
expected to meet thy slaughtered husband, now a saint in hea- 
ven. There is another cause for thy emotion at the sight of 
him who personates Dmitry.'' 

'^ Oh !" cried Marina, " you know not the wretch who has 
dared to assume the revered name of my beloved husband and 
sovereign lord. He is a miserable Jew, the very refuse of hu- 
man nature. He is the man from whom I rescued the young 
girl that afterwards married Chmielnicki. God have pity 
upon me !" 

The Palatine was stricken with amazement. 

" But are you quite sure," said he after a long pause, " that 
he is the same individual ?" 

" I have no doubt of it," Marina replied. 

" And I confess it," said a voice outside the tent, and a 
moment after, the impostor entered. '' Yes, I am the Jew, 
Jankeli. You have recognised me, Marina. I believe people 
do not forget those whom they have injured, even were they 
the most degraded of human beings. As for you, Prince," he 
continued, turning towards the Palatine, " you know me not ; 
but my uncle Egidi, the learned Rabbi, is not unknown to you." 

The features of the wretch assumed a satanic expression as he 
proceeded. 

" One day, my uncle put this talisman round my neck, and 



216 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

told me to come to Russia, and proclaim that I was Dmitry, the 
son of Ivan the terrible. I accordingly arrived at Starodub, and 
said, ' I am Dmitry Ivanowitz, and am come to claim my 
father's crown from Schouisky.' The people received me well, 
all the neighbouring cities submitted to my rule, the boyards 
came and swore allegiance to me, and my soldiers multiplied. 
Then Prince Sapieha and Prince Rozynski anived in my camp, 
and my army, doubled by the troops they brought with 
them, has become formidable. I am now at the gates of Mos- 
cow, and about to enter that city as Czar of Moscovy. There- 
fore, Marina, I am no longer a miserable Jew^ the very refuse 
of human nature. I have now a crown to bestow. It is a mag- 
nificent gift, is it not ? Marina, I lay it at your feet ; — 
accept it from me." 

" Never,'"* cried the Czarina, vehemently. 

" And why not ?'' said the impostor coolly, looking at Ma- 
rina with a smile of hellish malice. " Your first husband was 
the impostor ; I am the true Dmitry.'" 

" When I married Dmitry,'' Marina replied, " my kinsmen, 
my friends, and a whole nation proclaimed him Czar of Mos- 
covy ; and besides -" 

*' You loved him, did you not ?" said Jankeli, interrupting 
her. " For my part, your love and your ambition are equally 
indiflferent to me. Give me plenty of gold, for much I must 
have, and I will allow you to reign as you please, and love 
whom you please." 

An expression of disgust and abhorrence stole over Marina's 
countenance. Jankeli only smiled, and continued : 

" But you must hasten to acknowledge me, and that publicly. 
Your terror on seeing me has already produced a bad effect, 
which you must now counteract. Believe me, this course will 
be the most profitable to both of us. Give me gold, plenty of 
gold, and you may take the crown, and with it the power of 
vengeance." 

As Jankeli uttered these words, the Palatine led Marina from 



MARINA MNISZECH. 'l\7' 

the tent, and showed her, in the distance, the royal city of M-9^- 
cow, with its forty times forty cupolas. 

" Marina,"" said the old Pole, " in that city is a throne which 
thou mayest ascend, and enemies whom thou may est trample 
under foot.'"* 

The Czarina was deeply agitated : her heart beat at the thought 
of power and vengeance, and her eyes shot flashes of fire. Dmitry, 
the idol of her affection, was no more ; there was a void in her 
heart which she now seemed ready to fill with a life of excite- 
ment and ambition. Her father's lessons in her early days came, 
forcibly to her mind, and all the dreams of her youth arose 
before her in vivid reality. The blood rushed to her pale cheeks, 
• " What must I do ?" said she to the Palatine, 

" Embrace that man," he replied, pushing her into the arms 
of Jankeli, who had followed them. 

The army, who saw her in the impostor's arms, uttered shouts 
of joy, which made the walls of the old Kremlin tremble. 
Nevertheless, it did not seal the doom of Moscow. Sigismund 
III. having resolved to interfere in the affairs of Russia, had 
entered that country at the head of an army, for the purpose of 
placing his son Wladislaus upon the throne of the Czars, He 
laid siege in person to Smolensko, and while he remained severa.1 
months inactive before that city, the Hetman Zolkiewski marched 
towards Moscow, and having met Schouisky near Kluchin, coni- 
pletely defeated him, took him and his whole family prisoners., 
^;ad sent them to Warsaw. He soon after entered Moscow, 
proclaimed Wladislaus Czar of Moscovy, and then endeavoured 
|o treat with Jankeli, offering him, in the name of Sigismund 1IJ> 
a principality and plenty of gold. Zolkiewski had formed a jnst 
estinaate of the Jew's baseness: the sordid wretch immediately 
s^-^cepte^d the offer, and a secret treaty was about to be signed^ 
wl^en it came to the knowledge of Marina, She immediately 
ran to the impostor, and said to him with deep anger, and a ges- 
ture of the most profound contempt : 
^' Vile wretch that thou art !-^-dost thou think I wovdd 

Q 



218 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

breathe the same atmosphere with thee, except it were on a 
throne ? Thou shalt either reign or die." 

Prince Sapieha and his soldiers supported the cause of 
Marina ; but Rozynski declared for Sigismund. The two par- 
ties came to blows, and a sanguinary conflict ensued. In 
the midst of the strife, Jankeli betook himself to flight, and 
reached Kaluga. The brave Marina, whose father had returned 
to Poland, remained alone, in the midst of men who never 
placed any restraint upon their passions ; yet she ccfmmanded 
their respect and love. Determined now to owe her greatness 
solely to herself, she went through the ranks, encouraged the 
soldiers, and succeeded in raising these undisciplined bands to the 
greatest pitch of enthusiasm in her favour. All swore to replace 
upon the throne of Moscovy, not Dmitry — the name was of no 
moment — -but the husband of Marina Mniszech. She next 
discarded the dress of her sex, assumed the garb of a soldier, and 
throwing a quiver of arrows over her shoulder, sprang upon her 
horse, and galloped to Kaluga, where she seized the person of 
the impostor, forced him to resume the name of Dmitry, and 
brought him back in triumph to the camp, , 

" Base coward !" she said, as she led him to his tent, " learn 
to risk thy life for a throne. '"* 

Meanwhile, Wladislaus had been cro^vned at Moscow ; and 
Zoikiewski set out to exterminate the impostor's army. After a 
succession of disasters and defeats, Marina, now a daring and 
heroic woman, and a model of courage to her followers, defended 
herself against a whole army, with a handful of men, in a convent 
which she had fortified. Zoikiewski, irritated at being thus 
stopped in his career of victory by a woman, prepared to storm 
the convent, and put to the sword every human being found 
within its walls. But Marina's time was not come : she de- 
termined still to live for power and vengeance. This reso- 
lution redoubled her strength, and she performed prodigies of 
valour. After driving back the assailants, she set fire to the 
convent, escaped with her followers, and, with the impostor, 



MARINA MNISZECH. 219 

whom she would not suffer out of her sight, shut herself up 
in Kaluga, which she strongly fortified. 
i^The thirst of power, instilled into her mind from her very 

' infancy, had now become a frenzy which nothing could assuage. 

-4t completely changed her woman's nature, and made her a 
separate being in the creation. The life of that contempti- 
ble Jew, for whom she entertained nothing but loathing and 
disgust, now constituted her most valuable treasure : for upon 
his imposture did her power rest. She proclaimed him the 
true Dmitry Ivanowitz, and watched over his safety with 
the greatest anxiety. Wretch as he was, he was the instru- 
ment to her ambition, and though she hated and spurned 
him, she evinced the most trembling eagerness to secure him 
from harm.'V - 

The determined purpose which filled her mind, being pursued 
with extreme vigour, brought numerous partisans to her standard, 
and in a short time she again found herself at the head of a 
considerable army. But an incident occurred which, in a 
moment, overthrew all her hopes. 

She had succeeded in gaining to her cause several Tartar 
princes, and a numerous body of Cossacks. Jankeli, to whom 
she now allowed greater freedom, because she had no fear of his 
escape from her, had from habit identified himself with her pro- 
ceedings and assumed a sort of authority in the army. Suspi- 
cious and mistrustful, because he was himself base and trea- 
cherous, he entertained doubts of the fidelity of Ourmamhed 
Khan of KasimofF, who had just joined Marina's party. With- 
out communicating his suspicion to the Czarina, he resolved to 
murder the prince, and with this view invited him to a' hunting 
party. Having, under pretence of a private conference led the 
unsuspicious Tartar into a remote part of the forest appointed 
for the day's sport, he stabbed him to the heart, dug a grave, 
and buried his body. On his return to Kaluga, he stated that 
Ourmamhed having attempted his life, he had successfully de- 
fended himself, and that the Khan, fearful of the consequences 
of his base attempt, had fled towards Moscow. 



220 LIVES Of CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

MaTina knew Jatikeli too well to credit tliis story. His pallid 
cheeks and trembling limbs but too plainly told his crime, 
and she shrank aghast from the monster. But another scan had 
plunged into the murderer's thonghts and detected the foul deed. 
Prince Ourussoff, Ourmamhed's kinsman, convinced of the 
Jew's treachery, resolved to avenge the death of the Khan, and' 
one day, when the wretch was in a state of complete inebriation, 
stabbed him at his own table, massacred the whole of his attend- 
ants, and immediately withdrew with his Tartars frbm Kaluga. 

Marina being thus deprived of her best troops, was soon de- 
serted by the remainder, and after wandering alone for a short 
time, fell into the hands of the boyards, who threw her into a 
horrible prison. Here, she was left to meditate upon the eventful 
scenes of her past life, and the overthrow of her most cherished 
hopes. Shut up in a damp and fetid dungeon, almost frozen to 
death, her clothes falling in shreds from her body, and with 
only sufficient food to keep her alive, she was reduced to sUeh 
a state of bodily suffering that the instinct of nature btoke her 
proud spirit, and she supplicated her enemies for relief. But 
they laughed her to scorn, and refused her the slightest alle- 
viation.. 

Willingly would she have died, but death came not at her 
bidding, and she lingered on in cruel torture. The boyards at 
length resolved to put her publicly to death, and a day was fixed 
for her execution. - 

One night, as she lay upon the cold and humid floor of her 
prison, half dozing and half aWake, starting every moment from 
the short slumber of weakness, seeing strange forms flitting be- 
fore her eyes, and strange noises ringing through her ears, sh6 
Was suddenly aroused by the sound of deadly strife close to her 
prison walls. The door of her dungeon Was at last burst 
open, and a man rushed in. Throwing himself on the damp 
floor by her side, he kissed her hands and wet them with his 
tears. She was too weak to rise, and he lifted her from the 
groimd. Marina looked at him, and uttered a shriek of joy. 

''Oh! Providence,'' she' cried, '^ lam saved !" 



MARINA MNISZECH. 221 

In her itlftincy a yoimg Pole, named Zaroucki, had been her 
playmate. His regard for her, as a child, had ripened nto love 
as she grew up. He had offered her his vows before she knew 
Dmitry ; but, though her heart did not absolutely reject him, 
the prediction of the weird woman, Korica, had wrought so 
powerfully upon her mind, that she replied : 

''To offer me your obedience, you must be in a situation to 
command."" 

Zaroucki left her in despair, and was not heard of for several 
years. Marina herself had nearly lost all recollection of him. 
But with what delight did she now recognize her old playmate ! 
It was just at the period when the executioner was about to tor*- 
ture and put her to death, that she heard a well-known voice 
which reminded her of the peaceable and happy days of her 
childhood. She found that Zaroucki still loved her, for she felt 
the tremour of his hands as he broke the chains which encircled 
her beautiful limbs. She wept with emotion ; tears had long 
ceased to flow from her eyes, and they now refreshed her burn- 
ing eyelids. Throwing herself into Zaroucki's arms, she said to 
him : 

" I am ready to follow you ; whither would you lead me ?'''' 

" I am now,'^ he replied, " a Cossack chief. I have a nu- 
merous body of troops, consisting of men entirely devoted to me. 
Under their guard you have nothing to fear. I will take you to 
your native country, and to your father." 

" I have no country now,"' she said in a melancholy tone of 
voice, " nor can I ever have a country, except where there is a 
field of battle — a throne — or a grave."" 

*' Is this your feeling ?"" said the Cossack chief; "and are you 
willing to brave fresh dangers .^ — Then let me share them. 
Come among us, and be our queen. You will govern simple 
and even savage men, but blindly obedient to your commands. 
Your royal canopy shall be more splendid than that of any mo^ 
narch of the earth, for the vault of heaven shall form it. Your 
throne shall not consist of a few boards covered with velvet— 
but repOse upon the back of the noblest animal in the creation; 



222 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Your dominions shall have no limits, for they shall extend as 
far as our horses can carry us, and our swords strike. Come 
then, Marina — come and I will show you your new subjects."" 

Marina thrilled with delight at the thought of this strange 
and novel life. The excitement which it caused in her, brought 
back her strength, and she vaulted without assistance upon 
the back of a milk-white charger which had been prepared 
for her by Zaroucki's orders. She now found herself surround- 
ed by a troop of men of bold and haughty bearing, who hailed 
her as their queen, and swore to live and die in her service. 
Marina's feelings were wound up to a pitch of ecstasy by 
this scene, and her beauty assumed a character of sublimity : she 
might have been taken for the goddess of armies. The rich and 
tattered garments of her former rank hung in shreds about her 
person, and in her feeble hand she waved a lance, directing the 
iron point towards Moscow. Her features, though thin and 
angular from her sufferings, were now flushed with hope, 
and still displayed the loveliness of extreme youth, whilst the 
fire of her eyes expressed the most determined heroism. She 
galloped forward in the direction she had indicated, making a 
sign to the Cossacks to follow her. All eagerly obeyed, and 
from that moment Zaroucki and his bold warriors became the 
blind slaves of a woman, whose insatiable ambition was fm- 
ther irritated by a thirst of vengeance. In a short time, Ma- 
rina and her followers laid waste all the eastern provinces of 
Russia. Wherever they appeared, fire and sword marked their 
passage. The fever of Marina's resentment being somewhat 
assuaged by these excesses, she grew tired of her nomadic 
throne, and was anxious to fix it where it might take root and 
flourish. It was the dearest wish of her heart to reign, but in 
peace, and over a definite kingdom. Though first and foremost 
to brave danger, though a model of valour to her Cossacks, 
though long inured to a life of peril and hardship, she was 
nevertheless formed by nature to exercise the gentler attributes 
of her sex. From a graceful and lovely girl, misfortune had 
transformed her into a stern and daring warrior ; but under 



MARINA MNISZECH. 223 

tlie helmet and tlie breastplate, still lurked a woman's heart, and 
she longed to exchange her life of war and bloodshed, for the 
splendour and pomp of royalty. With this view she planned 
the conquest of Astracan, there to found a new kingdom ; and 
Zaroucki, who knew no will but hers, directed his troops thither. 
The city of Astracan, though gallantly 'defended by Prince 
Dmitriewitz Khworotinin, was taken by storm, and the prince 
put to death by the irritated conquerors, who would not allow 
any resistance to the mandates of their queen. Here, Ma- 
rina became once more a sovereign ; but she reigned over a pro- 
vince which she had herself laid waste, over a city which she 
had nearly destroyed, and over a people whom she had decima- 
ted. Nevertheless she reigned, and a smile of joy, unchecked 
by the tears of the widows and orphans she had made, once 
more played round her lips. 

Soon after this event, Kosma Minim and Prince Pojarski, hav- 
ing resolved to free their country from its internal enemies, made 
an appeal to the patriotism and loyalty of the Russian youth. 
All obeyed their call and flocked round their standard. Marina 
and Zaroucki, as the most formidable, were the first attacked. 
Their resistance was desperate, and though overpowered by 
numbers, every check they received was almost a victory ; but 
at length, an immense host was brought against them, and they 
were utterly defeated in a pitched battle. With the remnant of 
their little army, they fled into the desert. Here, they wandered 
about, suffering every kind of privation, until absolute hunger 
forced their followers gradually to desert them, and they were 
left with only a few attendants. These also quitted them at 
last, after sharing with them the remains of their scanty provi- 
sions, which were barely sufficient to support life a few days 

longer. 

******* 

******* 

In the middle of the winter of 1612, on one of those days of 
intense cold, when even the sunbeams seem frozen in their pas- 
sage through the atmosphere, two solitary human beings were 



224 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

wending their way across one of the drea y steppes of Russia. 
A female with pallid cheeks and sunken eyes was painfully 
dragging her weary limbs over the frozen snow which, at each step 
she took, crackled under her weight. A man emaciated and 
care-worn supported her with one arm, whilst in the other he 
carried a lovely infant, blue with cold, and almost lifeless. 
Every now and then, he looked with tenderness at his compa- 
nion, and turned away his head to conceal from her his horror 
and despair'. Though sinking under his own sufferings, he 
seemed to feel but for her, and his infant charge. Her counte- 
nance was placid and resigned : it expressed strong though 
€alm determination ; but whenever she cast her eyes upon the 
child, a tear fell upon her cheek, and immediately froze there. 
These two individuals were Marina and Zaroucki. The child 
was theirs, and its name was Dmitry. It was born, during a tem- 
pest, upon the brink of a mountain torrent ; it was a gentle bud 
which had shot prematurely forth on a day of sunshine, to be nip- 
ped by the frost ere it could open into blossom. The wanderers 
were proceeding towards the Oui-al mountains, through immense 
solitudes scarcely trodden by the foot of man. They had tra- 
velled in this manner many days ; the snow had served as their 
bed, the canopy of heaven as their roof. 

On the day to which I refer, they had painfully walked for- 
ward many hours without speaking — for intense grief indulges but 
little in words. On a sudden they were overtaken by a snow 
storm. A furious wind arose, and whirled the white fiakes in 
fearfid eddies around them. They were so completely envelop- 
ed in snow, tTiat they could not see ten feet before them ; and 
having lost the trace which guided them on their journey, they 
were forced to halt. The storm at length ceased, and they were 
about to resume their route, when, as the snow blew off, they dis^ 
covered a body of horsemen close to them. Concealment was 
impossible ; they knew that numerous detachments of Russian 
troops were in pursuit of them, and they conjectured this to be 
one. They were not mistaken. 

The horsemen, on perceiving them, uttered shouts of joy. 



MARINA MNISZE€H. 225 

They were surrounded in an instant. Zaroucki drew his sword, 
but his hand was benumbed with cold, and he was unable 
to grasp the hilt. The soldiers laughed at his weakness, 
and all rushed on him at once. He fell covered with wounds ; 
his warm blood smoked as it tinged the snow, and he expired 
casting a last fond look at her to whom he had sacrificed all. 

During his death throes, he was able to perceive the savages 
bindinof the delicate limbs of Marina with their saddle-mrths. 
There was an expression of hellish trmmph in their counte- 
nances, for they belonged to the party of old Moscovites who 
had opposed the innovations of Dmitry. Their rough black 
beards bristled with hoar frost, and their sinister looks told 
Marina that she had no pity to expect from them. They inter- 
rogated her, but she made no other reply than a look of the 
most cutting contempt. 

Suddenly a feeble and plaintive cry was heard. Marina start- 
ed — it was her child — her little Dmitry. She however reco- 
vered her composure, and the poor babe escaped notice. 

The commander of the troop began to converse in a low voice 
with some of his men. They were debating about what they 
should do with their prisoner. 

" Let her die," said the chief. 

" The reward will be great if Ave take her alive to Moscow,'"* 
said another. 

" She would never get there," observed a third ; " don't you 
see that she is dying ?" And as he spoke, Marina sank upon the 
snow close to Zaroucki's corpse. 

At this moment, one of the horses having pawed the ground, 
it sent forth a hollow and lengthened sound, as if there was 
a large cavity below the surface. The chief smiled with the 
joy of a demon. He made a sign — his men understood him: 
with the hatchets which they carried at their saddle bow, they 
cut through the hardened snow and came to a bed of ice ; 
this they also broke, and the water of the Jaick flowed above the 
opening. They were upon the • frozen river. Having lifted up 
Zaroucki's body, they threw it into the stream, thrusting it 

R 



226 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

under the ice. They now turned to Marina, and seizing her 
with shouts of laughter informed her that her grave was dug, and 
ready to receive her. She made no reply : her soul was com- 
muning with its Creator, and she was then, no doubt, uttering 
her last prayer for the safety of her babe. The ruffians lifted 
her up, and after balancing her in their hellish sport, flung 
her into the water. 

No sooner had she disappeared under the ice, than a furious 
whirlwind arose, and drifted the snow over the opening, as if to 
close it for ever upon the victims. The ruffians were awe- 
stricken ; their shouts and laughter had ceased, and superstition 
had, for a moment, shed its terrors over them. 

" It is now all over,'"* said the chief, after a solemn pause ; 
" to horse and depart." 

The men had mounted their horses, and already set out, 
when a weak and plaintive cry struck the ears of the chief, who 
had lingered behind. It was uttered by the poor babe lying 
upon the snow, almost dead with cold and hunger. 

" Hah !" said the chief, approaching the child, " thou cm*sed 
cub of a still more cursed dam, art thou still alive ?" 

The infant turned its large and innocent eyes towards the 
soldier, and lifted up its little hands. The chief raised it from 
the ground ; it uttered not a cry ; only a gentle moan escaped 
it, as the ruffian drew a horse girth with all his strength round 
its white neck. He then threw the corpse upon the snow, and 
galloped forward to join his companions. The sound of the 
horses' hoofs gradually died away, the solitude returned to its 
silence, and the frozen body of an infant remained as the only 
trace of this deed of blood. 




cU. 



Ji,UA de Vri/ain 



t/". 






227 



CHRISTINA, 

QUEEN OF SWEDEN. 

It is a difficult task to write the life of a woman to whom the 
world, by almost common Consent, has given the names of great 
and illustrious, but who appears, from the anomalies in her cha- 
racter, to have been rather one of those insensate beings, ever 
restless and dissatisfied, who vainly endeavour to struggle against 
the dispensations of Providence, and thereby fail in attaining that 
happiness which might and ought to have been their lot. 

Thus it was with Christina ; though the fault is not entirely 
to be attributed to herself. Her early education had, no doubt, 
a powerful influence over the remainder of her life : her father, 
finding in her a precocity of extraordinary talents, wished to 
make her great ; and, violating the laws of nature, he gave her 
the education of a warrior. The consequence of this was, the 
apparition of one of those singular phenomena which astonish 
but disgust mankind, and excite but little of human sympathy. 

Christina, Queen of Sweden, was born on the 18th December 
1626. Her mother was Eleanora Maria of Brandenburg; her 
father Gustavus Adolphus, one of the greatest captains of 
modern times, and surnamed by his victorious legions the 
f Lion of the North." He died young, amid his career of vic- 
tory, whilst he was yet animated with that resolute daring which 
had made him surmount every obstacle, and would ultimately 
have led him to the conquest of all Europe, He left the crown 
of Sweden to a child ; but he cherished the hope that this child 
would render illustrious the throne of his ancestors. 



228 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Christina was scarcely two years old when her father, having 
already discerned in her a decided will, and an almost martial 
temper, took her with him to all the camps and fortresses which 
he visited. One day at Colmar, when the guns were about to 
be fired, the governor, fearful that the infant princess might be 
alarmed at the report, mentioned it to the king. Gustavus 
hesitated at first, but he soon said with a smile, "(She is the 
daughter of a soldier ; let the guns be fired, — she must accustom 
herself to the report." ■; When Christina heard the noise, she 
laughed aloud, and striking her little hands together, seemed to 
ask for a repetition of the firing. Gustavus Adolphus could not 
but love a child who gave such early indications of courage, and 
was one day to succeed him. From that moment he always 
took Christina with him to camps and reviews, whenever there 
was any military display ; and he observed with delight the 
pleasure she evinced on such occasions. 

*' I will one day,"" he used to say to her, " take you to places 
where you shall be fully satisfied.'*/)' 

Gustavus Adolphus is a man to whom posterity has not done 
justice. We often admire the deeds of those Northern hosts 
who overthrew the Roman empire ; but if we consider atten- 
tively what Gustavus Adolphus achieved in the space of a sin- 
gle year, opposed as he was to nations and generals of a much 
higher order of civilization and capacity than those with whom 
the Scythians and Goths had to contend, we shall feel less sur- 
prise at the victorious incursions of the latter. 

The hero of Sweden died in the midst of his triumphs, and 
before he had time to bestow upon his child the education 
he had traced out for her. But his last injunctions were 
religiously observed, and Christina was brought up in that ex- 
traordinary manner which could only lead to an unsatisfactory 
result for herself. Particular care was taken to render her con- 
stitution as robust as that of the strongest man : she ate little, 
slept still less, and was inured to every species of privation 
and hardship. She frequently passed two whole days without 



CHRISTINA. 229 

drinking, because water not agreeing with her, she was not 
allowed to drink it, and she could not reconcile herself to 
wine, or any fermented liquor. Mortifying herself of her 
own free will, she endured cold, heat, hunger, and thirst with 
equal resolution. She endeavoured to throw off everything 
belonging to her sex, and adopt the habits and ideas' of a 
man.{f^ie entertained a deeply-rooted aversion and contempt 
for women ; and this feeling was the more extraordinary be- 
cause nothing had occurred to herself likely to inspire her with 
this hatred. : 

%I prefer men to women,*" she used to say, " not because 
they are men, but because they are not women.'!* V 

The celebrated Oxienstiern, her father's minister, and one of 
the greatest and most virtuous statesman the world has pro- 
duced — the great Gustavus himself. Cardinal Richelieu, Oli- 
vares, Cromwell, Mazarin, the great Conde, and that host of fine 
geniuses of which the literature of every country at that time 
boasted, might indeed have inspired her with the desire of shar- 
ing the glory of men. But women had also their glory, and in 
repudiating the advantages of her sex, Christina still remained 
a woman,— but a woman deprived of the charms and fascinations 
of her nature, without being able to acquire any of the qualities 
of men, who looked upon her in no other light than a cruel 
and vindictive female, impetuous, tyrannical, and capable of 
every excess to which an inordinate ambition that she in vain 
endeavoured to conceal, could lead her. , She herself admitted 
that she was a compound of good and bad qualities. Perhaps 
we must attribute to these causes the contradictory judgments 
passed upon her by her contemporaries. When her father 
ascended the throne of Sweden, the monarchs of that country 
possessed not greater despotic power than those of Denmark 
in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The four estates, 
composed of a thousand noblemen, a hundred ecclesiastics, a 
hundred and fifty burghers, and about a hundred and fifty 
peasants, passed all the laws of the kingdom. At that period 

s 2 



230 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

too, the titles of duke, count, and marquis were unknown both 
in Sweden and in Denmark. King Eric introduced them into 
Sweden about the year 1561. Eric did not, however, possess 
absolute power, and he proved a striking instance of the evil 
that may accrue from a desire of despotism when united with 
incapacity. He was son of Gustavus Vasa, and might reason- 
ably have expected to be successfid in the innovation he at- 
tempted ; but, unfortunately, he only betrayed his weakness 
and want of talent. He was accused, deposed, and cast into 
prison ; the tlirone was given to his brother John, who, in order 
to secure to himself the undistm-bed enjoyment of it, had his 
brother publicly poisoned, and his body afterwards carried 
through the whole city with the face uncovered, so that no 
doubts might be entertained of his death. Thus, the new king 
prevented the possibility of any impostor lapng claim to the 
throne at a future day. As a punishment for this fratricide, 
king John was condemned to make but one meal each Wednes- 
day/. It was the Jesuit Passe vin who inflicted this penance 
in the name of Pope Gregory YIII. Though this sentence 
no doubt partakes of the ridiculous, it shows nevertheless 
that crime miust always be expiated, and that there exists 
no sanctuary, not even a throne, that can insure impunity to 
the murderer. 

The mildness of this punishment was intended as a lure 
to draw over king John to the court of Rome, and make the 
Swedish nation embrace Catholicism. But the exertions of the 
Jesuit Passe vin to gain this end were fruitless. John, who 
did not like the Lutheran persuasion, endeavoured, but with no 
better success, to introduce the Greek religion among his sub- 
jects. Sweden was at that period plunged in darkness and 
ignorance. The university of Upsal existed, it is true, but 
it had only three or four professors, and these were without 
pupils. Arts and sciences Avere so little cultivated in that 
country that artillery was not known among the Swedes 
till after the time of Gustavus Vasa ; and Avhen, in 1592, 



CHRISTINA. 231 

King John fell ill, not a single physician was to be found 
to attend him, and he died without medical advice. > 

Sweden, however, possessed at that period every element of 
prosperity. Sigismund, son of king John, had been elected 
king of Poland in 1587, five years prior to the death Of his 
father. Sigismund, seated upon the throne of Sweden and 
Poland, might easily have conquered the whole of Moscovy^ 
then without government or army. But he merely possessed 
himself of Finland and Esthonia ; and this he did a few years 
after he mounted the throne. As he adhered to the Catholic 
religion, whilst the Lutheran was that of Sweden, the states 
deposed him, as they had done his uncle Eric. They placed 
upon the throne, Charles IX. another of his uncles, and the 
father of the great Gustavus Adolphus. It may easily be 
imagined that in a half-civilized country like Sweden at this 
period, such changes could not be effected without violent 
commotions. But if Charles IX. was not recognized by those 
foreign powers who were the allies of his nephew, he reigned, 
as legitimate sovereign in Sweden by the unanimous consent 
of the nation. His death took place in 1611. 

Gustavus Adolphus had not reached his eighteenth year, 
which is the age of majority for the kings of Sweden and 
Denmark, when he succeeded to his father without the slightest 
opposition, and by his accession to the throne the destinies of 
Sweden were changed. 

The first wars in which he engaged were unfortunate. All 
his endeavours to gain possession of Scania, then invaded by 
the Danes, proved ineffectual : he was forced to retreat, and to 
make peace with that power. But as soon as he had concluded 
the treaty, he again yielded to his warlike propensities, and not 
only attacked the Moscovites, but penetrated into Livonia, 
and making his cousin Sigismund flee before his victorious 
army, pursued him almost to his own capital. The emperor 
Ferdinand 11. supported his ally Sigismund ; and it was then 
that Cardinal Richelieu, availing himself, with his usual ability. 



232 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

of tlie embarrassed situation of the Swedisli king, entered into a 
treaty -witli him, hoping, with the aid of the Lion of the North, 
to strike a fatal blow at the power of the House of Austria. 
The councils of Sweden were at that period directed by Oxien- 
stiem, a minister worthy, by his transcendant abilities, of treat- 
ing with Cardinal Richelieu, but greatly superior to the crafty 
Frenchman in virtue and integrity. 

Gusta\'us Adolphus, with a view of penetrating without ob- 
stacle into Gennany, concluded a truce with Poland, by which 
he retained all his conquests ; and invading Austria, he soon, by 
his victories, shook the throne of Ferdinand II. almost to its 
foundation. The progress of the " Lion of the Korth^ was a suc- 
cession of -victories : he re-established the elector palatine in his 
possessions, besieged Ferdinand in his own capital, and would 
probably have dictated laws to the surrounding potentates, had 
not death surprised him in the midst of his career. He was 
kiUed in 1632, at the battle of Lutzen, leaving the crown 
of Sweden to a child of six years of age. 

The death of Gustavus Adolphus was a real calamity to Swe- 
den. The loss of the battle of Nordlingen, in 1634, placed 
that country under the dependance of its former ally, France. 
Richelieu now realized his ambitious project of wholly directing 
the politics of Germany, hitherto swayed by the councils of the 
virtuous Oxienstiern, who, notwithstanding his talents as a 
statesman, did not possess the requisites of a warrior. The 
powerful arm of his valiant master would have been necessary 
for some years longer to have consolidated the influence his 
genius had exercised over the affairs of the North. Oxienstiern 
completed the triumph of the proud and wily prelate, by his 
presence at Compiegne ; thus doing homage, as it were, to the 
supremacy of Richelieu. 

Meanwhile, Christina acquired with her years, knowledge and 
talent in a truly astonishing manner. At the age of fifteen she 
surprised even her ministers by the clearness of her views, and the 
vastness of her plans for the future prosperity of her dominions. 



CHRISTINA. 233 

/■■■ 
(Lively and impassioned, her character was more that of a 

native of Southern climes, than of a young girl brought up in the 
icy North. All her projects were gigantic, and she ascribed the 
merit of them to her father, whose memory she literally adored. 
Ardent in all her resolves, she devoted herself to the study of 
the abstract sciences with the application and perseverance of a 
professor. (Even before she was of age, she received at her 
court the most celebrated men of learning in Europe.' Bochart, 
Grotius, Descartes, and several other master-minds were treated 
by her at Stockholm with a respect and distinction which often 
excited the envy and hurt the pride of the Swedish nobles. 
But Christina's mind was of a superior cast, and she heeded not 
the petty jealousies of her offended courtiers. One of the most 
important acts of her reign was undoubtedly the peace of West- 
phalia, by which the whole of Germany was restored to tran- 
quillity. Her private chancellor, Salvius, who was her second 
plenipotentiary at the congress, contributed greatly by his 
abilities to the conclusion of that important treaty. Christina 
testified her gratitude to this distinguished negotiator by raising 
him to the rank of senator, a dignity conferred only upon per- 
sons of the highest lineage. In her address to the senate upon 
this occasion, she said : — 

't Gentlemen, when good and wise counsel is required, we do 
not ask proof of sixteen quarters of nobility, we only think of 
the matter upon which we need advice. Salvius is deficient only 
in nobility of birth ; but that man's birth is sufficiently noble 
who has never deserved reproach. For my own part, it is abso- 
lutely urgent that I should have men of talent.'**'^ 

(When Christina became of age, she proved to the whole of 
Europe that her youthful soul possessed the energy and spirit 
of enterprise which had characterised her illustrious father. She 
governed her kingdom with infinite wisdom, and nothing in her 
conduct then denoted the insensate queen and ferocious woman 
which she afterwards became. 

When she had reached her twentieth year, the states of the 



234 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

kingdom liiimbly solicited her to clioose a husband. As she 
listened to their address, she became violently agitated, and 
seemed to struggle with difficulty against her rising passion. She, 
nevertheless, returned an evasive answer ; but a short time after, 
the states having renewed their request, Christina, in violent 
anger, asked them how they dared to address her upon that 
subject. 

The chief member of the deputation replied, that the Swedish 
nation revered her for herself ; but at the same time entertained 
the most profound adoration for the family of Gustavus Adolphus. 

*' It is, madam, that you may have sons who resemble you, who 
are the descendants of your great and royal father, and the pride 
of the Swedish nation.''' 

"(How do you know," exclaimed Christina, " that I may not 
give birth to a Nero instead of an Augustus ?" She then added : 
" Do not force me to marry. I hate marriage, and should 
prefer selecting a prince to reign in my stead, to being your 
queen with the loss of my independence."'''- 

The states withdrew in silence, but their disappointment was 
manifest ; Christina perceived it, and from that moment her reso- 
lution to abdicate was formed. ; 

Puffendorf asserts that Christina was compelled to relinquish 
the throne of Sweden. But the assertion is not borne out by 
facts, and indeed this author contradicts himself a few pages far- 
ther on ; for he says, that on the first words she uttered in the 
senate to announce her -resolution of abdicating, the senators, in 
tears, threw themselves at her feet imploring her to remain upon 
the throne, and not abandon Sweden. But Christina remained 
inexorable : she assembled the states of the kingdom, placed 
before them, with great solemnity, the crown and sceptre, and 
abdicated in favour of her cousin Charles, Duke of Deux- 
Ponts. This prince was in every respect suited to the Swe- 
dish nation, which at this time was wholly warlike, and panting 
for military fame. The duke was crowned under the title of 
Charles X. Immediately after his accession to the throne he 



CHRISTINA 235 

inarched into Poland, and, in the space of a few days, effected 
the conquest of that kingdom. But he lost it again as quickly. 
Being obliged to evacuate Poland, he made a retreat almost 
unparalleled in history, marching from island to island in the 
frozen ocean, till at length he reached Copenhagen. This 
extraordinary event produced an equally extraordinary result : 
that of a treaty of peace, restoring to Sweden the province of 
Scania, of which she had been dispossessed for three centuries 
past. 

Christina, on her abdication, had stipulated the necessary 
arrangements to enable her to live in affluence wherever she 
might think proper to take up her abode ; but what she prin- 
cipally desired was entire independence, the most uncontrolled 
freedom of action. Voltaire says, that in his opinion Christina 
would not have abdicated had she been Queen of Italy. I differ 
from this great writer. 

I will now add but a few words more relating to Sweden. 
Charles XI. son of Charles X. was the first absolute monarch 
of that country, and his grandson Charles XII. was the last. 
It was only after the death of the latter, that the Swedish 
nation, which up to that period was wholly devoted to war, 
began to engage in the more profitable pursuits of commerce. 
An East India company was established, and the merchants 
of Sweden traded even with China and the Mogul empire. 

A few days after this great action by Christina — ^for I cannot 
but designate as such the voluntary abandonment of a throne, 
she quitted Sweden, and in a very short time lost all the dig- 
nity and greatness of soul by which she had previously been 
distinguished. She now repented of having left her native 
country, and demanded of her cousin permission to reside in 
Sweden : but Charles very wisely refused. Christina then had 
a medal struck, with an inscription implying that Parnassus and 
the arts were worth more than a throne. 

She soon after adopted a peculiar costume, which might have 
passed for that of a man, but a madman. Thus attired, she 



236 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

travelled through Denmark and a great part of Gennany, in 
order to reach Brussels. She there imagined that as her in- 
tention was to proceed to Italy, she should not, as a pro- 
testant, be well received in that country ; she therefore re- 
solved to change her religion. This was not the affair of one 
day, but of only a few hours. Christina having become a ca- 
tholic immediately set out for Inspruck, where she publicly ab- 
jured the protestant faith. In the evening she visited the 
theatre, and the protestants, who placed no faith in the sincerity 
of her conversion, sarcastically observed : 

" The catholics owe her, in all conscience, a comedy in the 
evening, in return for the one she entertained them with this 
morning." 

Christina only laughed at these remarks. One day a ma- 
nuscript was brought to her, in which her conversion was 
spoken of in terms of derision. After perusing it, she wrote 
in the margin, in Italian : — " Chi legge non lo scrive — Chi lo 
scrive, non legge." 

Very shortly after her conversion, which again drew the at- 
tention of Europe upon her, Christina visited France. This 
was in the beginning of the brilliant reign of Louis XIV. 
That young and handsome monarch was fond of pleasure, and 
encouraged a display of magnificence in his nobles. Mazarin 
was still living, and Paris, restored to order and tranquillity 
since the termination of the troubles of the Fronde, was a most 
delightful residence for foreigners, especially, as may be well 
supposed, for a northern piincess who might have understood 
civilization but had never seen it. 

Whilst preparations were making to receive her in a manner 
worthy of the daughter of Gustavus Adolphus, she went to Fon- 
tainebleau, and visited the finest country seats in the enwons 
of Paris. It was there that Mademoiselle, who was exiled 
to Fontainebleau on account of her famous cannon-shot of 
St. Antoine, saw Christina, and wrote in her Memoirs a 
lively description of all the circumstances attending this visit 



CHRISTINA. 237 

of the Swedish Queen. Mademoiselle, it is well known, at- 
tached great importance to the most trifling" points of eti- 
quette. She sent a nobleman to Fontainebleau, to the Queen 
of Sweden, to inquire how she would receive her. 

" Good heavens !" exclaimed Christina, " she shall be re- 
ceived as she pleases ; and though much is granted to her qua- 
lity, there is no species of honour that I am not disposed to 
allow to her person.'^ 

What the Queen of Sweden knew of Mademoiselle relative 
to the Orleans affair had entirely won her regard. Christina 
looked upon this princess as, at least, a Bradamante. The truth 
is, that both she and the ex-queen of Sweden were half mad ; 
with this difference, that the northern princess was as cruel as 
a hyaena, whilst Mademoiselle possessed at least a feeling heart. 
Both had a mania, and in this again they differed : Christina had 
the mania of lovers — Mademoiselle that of husbands. Made- 
moiselle demanded to have the honours of the fauteuil^ al- 
though her rank only entitled her to a stool in the presence of 
a crowned head. Christina admitted this pretension, but said, 
with a smile : 

"cWould she wish, likewise, to take precedence of me ? For, 
with the temper I am told she has, she perhaps would not give 
way if we were to reach the door at the same moment." 

It was at Essonne that Christina and the princess met. The 
particulars of this interview are so well given in the Memoirs 
of Mademoiselle, that I prefer quoting the passage. 

" I was at Petit Bourg, at the house of the Abbe de la 
Reviere, afterwards Bishop of Langre, when I received the queen''s 
answer. Petit Bourg is only a league from Essonne. I was 
attended by Mesdames de Bethune, de Berthilliers, de Fron- 
tenac, and Mesdemoiselles de Vandy and de Segur, sisters of 
Count d'^Escars. The Countess de Fiesque, who had gone to Paris, 
had not yet returned, which vexed me much. On my arrival, 
M. de Guise Comminge, who was there from the queen, and all 
the king's officers in attendance upon her, came to receive me. 



238 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

The Queen of Sweden was in a handsome apartment at Ansse- 
lin's, fitted up in the Italian style. She was going to have a 
ballet, and had therefore a great number of persons with her. 
The room in which she was, being entirely surrounded by 
benches, she could advance only two or three steps to meet me. 
I had heard so much of the singularity of her costume, that I 
was in an agony of fear lest I should laugh on seeing her. 
The officers and persons by whom she was surrounded having 
made way for me, I immediately beheld her. Her appearance 
surprised, but did not strike me as at all ludicrous. She wore a 
grey petticoat trimmed with lace and silver ; a close jacket of 
camlet, of a fiery red, with lace similar to that of the petticoat ; 
and round her neck a handkerchief of Genoa point, with a bow 
of red riband. She had a wig of fair light hair, with a ball of 
hair behind, such as women wear. In her hand she held a hat 
with black feathers. Her complexion is fair ; her eyes are 
blue, and extremely varying in expression : sometimes uncom- 
monly mild, at others exceedingly harsh. Her mouth, though 
large, is handsome, and her teeth are beautiful. She is very 
small in stature, and her close jacket hides the defect of her 
figure. Upon the whole, she gave me the idea of a pretty 
little boy. She embraced me. 

" ' I feel great happiness," she said, ' in the honour of seeing 
you. I have passionately wished for it." 

" Slie gave me lier band and led me to the bottom of the 
room. 

" ' You have a good disposition for jumping ?"* she observed. 

" I seated myself in the fauteuil. There was a door lead- 
ing to a space where the ballet was to be performed. 

" ' I have been expecting you," said she. I wanted to ex- 
cuse myself from staying to see the ballet, being in mourning 
for my sister de Chartre. She, however, begged me to remain, 
which I did. I amused myself with talking to the persons near 
mc, Comminges, Servien, and Marshal d'Albret. The queen, 
speaking of my father, said, ' He is the only person in France 



CHRISTINA. 239 

who has not sent to ask permission to visit me.^ The Countess 
de Fiesque arrived with Madame de Monglais. I presented 
them to the Queen of Sweden, who said to me : ' The Countess 
de Fiesque is not a beauty to have created so extraordinary a 
sensation. Is the Chevalier de Grammont still in love with 
her?^ 

" When I presented M. de Bethune to her, she spoke to 
him of his manuscripts : she was evidently well pleased to show 
that she knew what was going on in France. After the ballet 
was over, we went to the play. During the performance she 
spoke very loud, praising the passages which pleased her, and 
not unfrequently making use of oaths. >, 'She leaned over her 
chair, and threw her legs on either side, sometimes even over the 
arms of her chair. 6 In short, she put herself into postures which 
I had never seen before, except when executed by Jodelet or Tri- 
velin. Her conversation turned upon a variety of topics, and 
she expressed herself in very agreeable terms. Sometimes she 
fell into a profound reverie, sighing deeply, and then she would 
start like a person suddenly roused from a sound sleep. She is a 
most extraordinary person. After the play, a collation of sweet- 
meats and fruit was served up, and then we went to see the fire- 
works on the river. During the latter display she constantly 
held my hand. Some squibs burst very close to us, and seeing 
me much alarmed she laughed : 'What !' said she, ' can a 
young lady be afraid who has been reduced to opportunities, 
and performed such noble feats ?' She spoke in a low tone 
to Mademoiselle de Guise, who replied : 

" ' We must acquaint Mademoiselle with this.'' 
" Christina declared that her most ardent wish on earth was 
to be present at a battle, and that she would have that satis- 
faction before she died. She added, that she envied the Prince 
of Conde on account of all his achievements. 
" ' He is a good friend of yours ?'' she said. 
" ' Yes, madam,' I replied, ' and a very near relation."* 
" ' He is the greatest man in the world, ' she observed ; ' that 
cannot be denied.*' 



240 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" When tlic fireworks were over : ' Let us go farther on^"* 
she said, ' I would speak to you.' Having led me to a little 
gallery close by, she shut the door." 

Mademoiselle here relates a long conversation which she says 
she had with Christina, who, as she asserts, seemed to take a 
srreat interest in her interminable differences with her father, 
and in her law-suits. I confess I feel great difficulty in be- 
lievinof this. Mademoiselle in continuation of her narrative, 
says : 

*' The queen observed to me, ' You must become queen of 
France, because you are the most beautiful, the most amiable, 
and the greatest princess in Europe. I "vvill speak to the Car- 
dinal about it.'' 

" Supper was then announced ; I took my leave of the queen 
and returned to Petit Bourg. On the following day, I sent 
to inquire after her health, and received for answer that she 
would visit me in the course of the morning. As she was going 
to the other side of the water, and would have been obliged to 
come back in order to cross the bridge at Corbeil, she sent me 
a message with her excuses, saying that the king's attendants 
had been the cause of her not being able to come and see me, 
and that she was much grieved at this disappointment.'"* 

I have given the above description of Christina by Made- 
moiselle, because, being written by a person who saw and con- 
versed with her, it bears the stamp of authenticity, and pos- 
sesses, besides, an interest of time and place. Soon after this 
interview, Christina made her entry into Paris. The ceremony 
was very magnificent, and perfectly similar to that which took 
place on the entry of the Emperor Charles V. A very detailed 
account of it was given in the Gazette de France. The Pari- 
sians were greatly surprised at seeing the queen decline the use 
of a carriage, and prefer entering the first capital in Europe on 
horseback, unattended by a single female. From the account 
in the gazette, it appears that her costume was in every respect 
similar to that worn by her when Mademoiselle saw her at 



CHRISTINA. 241 

Essonne. She passed the night preceding her entry, at Conflans, 
where the whole court went to visit her. During her stay at 
Paris she visited every establishment that presented any in- 
terest. tShe went to all the public libraries, and conversed with 
all the men distinguished by their learning, paying them the 
most marked attention ; in short, during a few days, she was 
truly the daughter of Gustavus Adolphus and the pupil of 
Oxienstiern. > 

Christina inquired after Ninon de KEuclos, who resided in a 
small country-house, near Paris, and paid her a visit. This con- 
descension was remarkable enough, inasmuch as she declined 
doing the same honour to Mademoiselle. She likewise attended 
mass at Notre Dame, and her conduct during the ceremony was 
anything but edifying, especially for a newly converted Catholic. 
During the whole time of the service, she talked incessantly to 
the bishops, and remained standing. The bishop of Amiens, to 
whom she confessed, stated everywhere that when the Abbe 
Le Camus, the king''s almoner, who was in attendance upon 
Christina, said to her : 

" Which ecclesiastic does your majesty choose to have for 
your confessor ?" 

" Any one you choose,''' she replied, — " a bishop — select 
one for me." 

The Abbe Le Camus went and fetched the bishop of Amiens. 
This prelate was in her oratory when she entered. She imme- 
diately knelt before him, and during the whole of her confession 
stared in his face. The bishop, however, said that she made 
a good confession, and that her sentiments edified him much 
more than her behaviour. 

Having seen all the curiosities of Paris, she went to Com- 
piegne to visit the royal family. She slept at Chantilly, where 
Cardinal Mazarin came to visit her. This was a mark of great 
respect, for Mazarin was in reality the sovereign of France. A 
few minutes after his arrival, two young men, plainly dressed and 
without decoration, arrived on horseback. 



242 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

" Madam,"" said the Cardinal to Christina, '' I have the 
honour of presenting to your majesty two young noblemen of 
high rank."" Both instantly knelt and kissed her gown ; she 
raised them, and embracing them both said laughingly : 

" They certainly belong tc a noble family."*' They were the 
king and his brother. 

Christina conversed with them a long time. She found 
the king very handsome, and indeed at that period Louis XIV. 
was one of the handsomest men of his court. 

In addressing the king, she used the term " my brother,"''' 
which title she also gave to Monsieur. The two princes after 
their visit, immediately set off for Compiegne, travelling all night 
on horseback. On the following day they returned to the house 
of Marshal Lamothe-Houdancourt, in order to receive Chris- 
tina. Their majesties waited for the Queen of Sweden on a 
terrace which divided the court-yard, and was filled with a crowd 
of courtiers and ladies, all splendidly attired.v^hristina alighted 
in the middle of the court-yard, and her appearance produced 
such an effect upon the Queen of France, that she remained for 
a moment speechless. Although her majesty had been informed 
of the extraordinary manners and appearance of Christina, she 
could not persuade herself that the being she saw before her 
was a woman, and that woman a queen. The marshal and his 
wife gave what was then styled a magnificent collation. The 
former had brought with him from Catalonia some very 
beautiful buffets of gilt silver, and other exquisitely wrought 
furniture. His young and lovely wife was covered with dia- 
monds. From Fayel, the Queen of Sweden was takei^ to Com- 
piegne, where every species of amusement was provided to 
please her. As she did not dance, she took but little interest 
in the balls and ballets, notwithstanding their splendour, 
although these entertainments were the favourite pastimes of 
Louis XIV. and his court. The French monarch, absorbed 
by his passion for Mademoiselle de Mancini, paid but little 
attention to a woman of Christina's appearance. During her 



CHRISTINA. 243 

stay at Compiegne, the Jesuits of that place solicited her 
to honour with her presence the representation of a tragedy 
by their pupils. She went with the whole court, but 
during the tragedy did nothing but laugh at the unfortunate 
Jesuits, and turn them into ridicule ; and, as a climax to the 
singularity of her behaviour, placed herself in all those pos- 
tures which Mademoiselle describes in her relation of the in- 
terview at Essonne^ The impression which such conduct must 
have made upon Anne of Austria, may easily be imagined. 

The manners of the court of France, at this brilliant and 
urbane period, at last exercised an influence over the hitherto 
untractable Christina, who began to be attached to Paris ; but 
unfortunately her conduct displeased the court so much that it 
was at length intimated to her, though in the mildest and po- 
litest terms, that her stay in France had been sufficiently pro- 
longed. I believe, nevertheless, that the principal cause of her 
departure was her incessantly interfering in the love-affair be- 
twixt the king and Mademoiselle de Mancini. She was con- 
tinually repeating to Louis : "If I were in your place, and 
master as you are, I would immediately marry the person I 
love."*^^ This no doubt was repeated to Anne of Austria, as 
well as to the Cardinal, who, though Mademoiselle Mancini's 
uncle, was extremely averse to such marriage. This reason, 
and no doubt, her extraordinary and undignified manners, her 
habit of swearing, and her more than singular attitudes upon 
every occasion, was quite sufficient to induce the court to urge 
her departure. 

Christina then resolved to proceed to Italy, and accordingly 
prepared for her journey. There is something so extraordi- 
nary in her last interview with Mademoiselle, that I think this 
subject in the hands of a skilful painter might produce a most 
interesting pictui'e. 

'^ I was at Paris,"" relates Mademoiselle, " when I learned 
that the Queen of Sweden intended to leave Compiegne. I 
thought she would pass through Paris and take the road to Bur- 
gundy, but she chose another route. I sent a nobleman to 



244 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

offer her my respects. . He informed me, on his retmii, that her 
majesty had expressed the most lively sorrow at being deprived 
of the pleasm-e of seeing me. On learning her intention of sleep- 
ing at Montargis, I formed a desire to see her once more, 
and ha\dng ordered horses, immediately set out for that place, 
where I arrived at ten o'clock at night. I was accompanied by 
Madame de Thianges and ^ladame de Frontenac. 
— '^ On my arrival, I alighted at the house in which the queen 
was. The attendants told me in Italian that her majesty was in 
bed. I pretended not to understand that language, and desii'ed 
them to inform the queen who it was that requested to see her. 
After having repeated this several times, an attendant came to 
beg me to go up to the queen's apartment alone. I found 
Christina in bed in one of the rooms usually occupied by my 
female attendants, whenever I sleep at ^lontargis. One solitary 
candle was burning upon the table. Instead of a nightcap, 
Christina had a napkin tied round her head, and not a single 
hair was to be seen, as her head had been shaved a short time 
previously. She wore a close bedgown without a collar, and 
fastened in front with a bow of red riband. The sheets reached 
only halfway down the bed, over which was thrown an ugly 
green quilt. In this state, she certainly did not appear to great 
advantage. After saluting me, she expressed regret that I 
should have risen so early, and asked who had accompanied me, 
I told her jNIesdames de Thianges and de Frontenac. She 
asked to see them, and after a little conversation I took my 
leave. Had she possessed any good-breeding she would have 
paid me a visit before her departure next morning ; but that 
would have been expecting too much from a queen of the 
Goths. 

: — ^' Next day I went to take leave of her, and found her look- 
ing very pretty. She was dressed in a new close jacket beauti- 
fully embroidered, and seemed in high spirits. She proposed to 
Madame de Thianges to accompany her to Italy, saying it was 
great folly to be attached to a husband, tlie most perfect of them 
being wortli nothing. She inveighed bitterly against marriage. 



CHRISTINA. 245 

and advised me never to take a husband. She could not bear 
the idea of having children. The devotions of the church of 
Rome next became the topic of conversation, and she expressed 
herself with great freedom on the subject. Her attendants then 
came to urge her departure, as they had a long journey to make 
that day. I attended her to the carriage, which she entered 
with Sentinetti, Monaldeschi, and a gentleman of the king''s 
household named Leiflein. No sight could be more extraor- 
dinary than that of a queen without a single female attendant.^' 

During her journey, she was addressed by the consul of a 
town, the name of which I do not now remember. This func- 
tionary was a protestant ; he made a very good speech, and the 
queen expressed her satisfaction. 

" But, Sir," said she, " you have not mentioned my abdi- 
cation, nor my conversion."' 

" Madam, '*'' the consul replied, " my object has been to 
eulogize you, not to trace your history." 

Christina smiled, and was not displeased at the candour of the 
reply. It is well known that she embraced the Catholic re- 
ligion merely to enjoy more freedom in Italy. Here, we find her 
the same woman who took for her motto : Fata viam inve- 
NiENT — The fates shall direct my course. The fact is, she had 
no religion at all. When the Jesuits of Lou vain promised her 
a place in heaven, next to St. Bridget of Sweden, she replied 
sneeringly : 

^tl prefer a place among the wise." 

It is a well-known fact, that on passing through Vienne, in 
Dauphiny, she received with marked displeasure the learned 
Boissac, who made her a speech upon God's judgments. 
Having taken up her abode at Rome, she soon grew weary of 
that city. Her mind was of too high a cast to sym.pathise with 
the narrow-mindedness of the Roman clergyr 

" I do indeed, believe," she said one day to Burnet, " that 
the church is directed by the Holy Spirit ; for since I have been 
at Rome I have seen four popes, and not one of them pos- 
sessed of common sense. t 

' T ^ 



246 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Cliiistina displayed uncommon taste for the fine arts. During 
her stay in Italy she made various collections of medals and 
statues. She studied chemistry, natural philosophy, and indeed 
everything that could feed her active and searching mind. In 
1657 she revisited France, but the court were not pleased at 
her return. She again inhabited the chateau of Fontainebleau, 
where she perpetrated the frightful murder of Monaldeschi. The 
circumstances which led to this crime, for I cannot name it other- 
wise, are to this day involved in mystery. It is a singular fact 
that in the memoirs of Mademoiselle and of Madame de Motte- 
ville, both remarkable for their veracity, not a word is said 
respecting the motive, though both give all the particulars of 
this barbarous act. It is, however, difficult to assign any other 
cause than the most implacable jealousy awakened by some 
real or supposed infidelity on the part of her unfortunate 
lover. Monaldeschi had at first merely entertained vague fears 
and suspicions. He was walking in the streets of Fontainebleau 
when he received a summons to attend the queen. Meantime, 
Christina had sent to the convent of the Mathurins for a priest 
named Father Montuani, whom she ordered to receive the con- 
fession of Monaldeschi, and prepare him for death. Father 
Montuani cast himself at the queen''s feet, and represented to 
her that she had no power over Monaldeschi's life. 

f ' I am a queen still,"" exclaimed Christina, interrupting the 
priest ; " the life of that man belongs to me, and I am free to 
dispose of it according to my pleasure. I therefore exercise 
my right : he must die ! — go and prepare him for death. That 
is your only mission here.T ,, 

Monaldeschi was waiting in the Galerie des Cerfs in the 
chateau of Fontainebleau. When he heard the queen's sei;i.t9nce, 
and was told that he had nothing more to expect in this, .world, 
his rage knew .np, bounds. Sentinetti and two other men^j-ushed 
upon him to despatch him with their , poniards, but they found 
him covered with a coat of mail. The unfortunate man had 
long expected to be attacked,, but he little thought that he was 
destined to fall by the command of Christina. He rushed to 



CHRISTINA. 247 

'^he windows — tliey were secured. He then drew his dagger 
"and closed with his adversaries. But what could his single arm 
avail him against three men, one of whom was the rival he had 
supplanted ? He fell, covered with wounds, and crimsoned 
the floor with his blood. It has been asserted that the 
queen herself, impatient at the continued struggle, came into 
the gallery, in order to animate the murderers by her presence. 
The body of the unfortunate Monaldeschi was placed in a 
coach and conveyed to the parish church, where it was privately 
buried, without any of the queen's attendants being present at 
the funeral service. 

The court of France was indignant at this atrocious act per- 
petrated, in the French territory, by a foreign queen. Christina 
maintained that she had a right to exercise in France the same 
power she enjoyed in Sweden. It might have been answered, 
that in Sweden, as everywhere else, Monaldeschi ought to have 
had a trial, and that neither at Stockholm nor at Paris was a 
base murder to be justified. Cardinal Mazarin informed her of 
the king's high displeasure at her conduct, and at the same 
time conveyed to her the king's wish that she should quit 
France, where her presence excited a general feeling of horror. 
V Christina was anxious to go to England, but Cromwell refused 
to sanction her residence in the country under his rule. 
She therefore went for the third time to Rome. Alexander 
VII., who then occupied the papal chair, a man of firm cha- 
racter, plainly intimated to her that he would not suflTer 
in his dominions any act like that by which she had dis- 
graced herself at Fontainebleau. Christina felt hurt at what 
she considered a state of dependance ; and in 1666, on the 
death of Charles X. King of Sweden, she expressed a desire to 
refurn to her native country ; but the states, unwilling to restore 
her to a throne which she had renouflced*,* * refused to receive 
her. She then fixed her residence once more at Rome, con- 
tinued to cultivate the society of the learned, and to see 
foreigners of rank and distinction. She sometimes proved her- 
self kind and generous even towards those who had injured 



248 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

her. On the revocation of the edict of Nantes, Christina 
expressed her opinion in her usual energetic manner. In a 
letter which she wrote to the Chevalier de Tersen, French 
ambassador at the court of Sweden, she says : 

'^fDo you know to what I compare France ? To a patient 
attacked with a slight disorder, which might easily have been 
cured ; but whose arm has been amputated in order to eradicate 
the disease, and his existence thereby endangered.g 

Bayle, who then edited a journal, inserted this letter, and 
observed, " that it savoured of Protestantism.^'' 

The great Conde died in the following year, 1685. Christina 
had always considered him the greatest man of his age. She 
wrote to Mademoiselle de Scuderi to engage her to compose a 
eulogy upon this distinguished warrior. 

" His departure,'^ she said, " announces to me that mine is 
not far distant. But I await the moment without defying or 
fearing it.'"^ 

Christina died at Rome, on the 16th of April 1689, in the 
fifty-first year of her age. She ordered the following words 
alone to be inscribed upon her tomb. D. O. M. vixit Chris- 
tina. Ann. LXII. 

It was said of the regent of France, that all the fairies having 
presided over his birth, each endowed him with a gift, but there 
came one who destroyed all that the others had done. This 
allegory might much more truly be applied to the queen of Swe- 
den. Christina herself owned that she was suspicious, pas^ 
sionate^ ambitious, sarcastic, and ii'religious. I may here add 
that she was cruel and haughty ; and that when under the 
excitement of passion, she displayed the extraordinary union 
of the burning temperament of the South with the cool re- 
flection of the North. D'Alembert said of her that the in- 
equalities of her temper and tastes — the want of decorum 
in all her actions — the little use she made of her ^reat 
knowledge in promoting the happiness of mankind — her ex- 
traordinary pride — her sarcasms upon the religion from which 
she had apostatized, as well as upon the one she had em- 



CHRISTINA. 249 

braced — lastly, her wandering life among foreigners, who had 
no esteem for her, have justified, more than she was aware 
of, the shortness of her epitaph. 

There is a work upon Christina, written, or rather edited 
by Arkenholz, librarian to the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel. It 
is in four large volumes, quarto, published at Amsterdam in 
1741. This work, improperly termed memoirs, is nothing more 
than a collection of more than two hundred letters from Chris- 
tina, and two little productions of hers, one of which is entitled : 
" Reflections on the Life and Actions of Alexander the Great." 
She loved to be compared to the Macedonian hero ; but it 
would be difficult to say in what particular point the comparison 
holds good. 

The title of the second of these productions is " Works of 
Leisure." It contains maxims and sentences, some of which are 
admirable. Here she expatiates upon tolerance, and upon the 
infallibility of the pope. These two subjects, however, seem 
much opposed to each other. In 1759 a collection of letters 
by the Queen of Sweden, was published ; but the authenticity 
of those letters is rather questionable. In 1677 there appeared 
a satire against her, called her '^' Life." Her collection of medals, 
in folio, appeared in 1742. But the works from which a fair esti- 
mate of her character may be made, are the memoirs of her con- 
temporaries. iThey all depict her as a woman capable no doubt 
of lofty feelings, but always carried aw^ay by the violence of her 
passions, and swayed in her decisions, even on the most important 
occasions, by the levity of her thoughts and impressions. She 
repudiated her sex for the sake of assuming the habits of one 
whose principles repudiated her. She was not an honest man, 
still less was she an estimable woman. Thus it was that she 
whiled away a life she might have rendered happy and illus- 
trious, but which she transformed into an inglorious exile among 
foreigners who despised her. She wandered from country to 
country like an outcast, and, at not a very advanced age, died 
unpitied and unmourned. 



250 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



The life of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, pregnant as it is 
with interesting incidents, would excite much less sensation at 
the present day, when ladies no longer hesitate to follow their 
husbands even to the most distant climes. But in the days of 
Lady Mary such was not the case ; and when she announced 
her resolution to accompany her husband to Constantinople, 
whither he was about to proceed as Ambassador, her courage 
became the theme of almost universal admiration and astonish- 
ment. 

Lady Mary Pierrepont was the eldest daughter of the Duke of 
Kingston. She was born in 1690, and received a most remark- 
able education. At a very early age she had acqmred a perfect 
knowledge of the Greek, Latin, and French languages. Being 
endowed with a more than ordinary share of beauty, she was 
sought in marriage by some of the most affluent members of the 
English nobility. Edward Wortley ^lontagu, Esq. obtained 
the preference, and she was married to him in 1712, being 
then twenty-two years of age. In 1716, Mr. Montagu was 
appointed Ambassador to Constantinople, and Lady Mary de- 
termined not to be separated from him. She would not^, how- 
ever, adopt the shortest and surest way of reaching the, coun- 
try whither she was proceeding, but chose rather to travel over 
land, through regions then but little known, and almost un- 
explored. She went through Peterwaradin, crossed the deserts 
of Scrvia. saw Philippopoli, !Mount Rhodope, Sophia, and 




]\isr.BS Mj^oi^K ' w^xi!%ms m'BmTA(B\nm 






LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 251 

various other places ; and when she returned by sea, she visited 
the countries mentioned by Homer, crossing the plains of Troy 
with the Iliad in her hand. She followed the traces of Ulysses 
through the islands of the Archipelago, guided by the Odyssey, 
in which Homer describes those enchanting places with all the 
accuracy of a geographer ; and in reading the interesting pages 
in which the Lady Mary relates her own travels, we often find a 
spark of that immortal genius which lighted up the soul of the 
Grecian bard. 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu possessed uncommon facility in 
acquiring languages, and very soon attained a sufficient knowledge 
of Turkish to be able to carry on a conversation. It was then 
that she asked and obtained permission to enter thet harem-^a 
favour hitherto denied to every stranger — and was allowed to 
visit the Sultana Valide, widow of Mustapha, and mother of 
the reigning Sultan Achmet III. This signal favour became 
the subject of general remark ; and it has been asserted that 
Lady Mary was more indebted to her personal charms for the 
sultan's departing in her favour from the general rule of his 
court, than to any respect shown to her rank as ambassadress. 
It was said that the Ottoman prince, on seeing a portrait of 
the fair Englishwoman, was so struck with her beauty, that 
he immediately ordered the harem to be opened to her; and 
it is added that he almost cast himself at her feet as her de- 
voted slave. Be that as it may, nothing can be more truly 
delightful than the description which Lady Mary gives of her 
reception, not only by the dowager sultana, but also by the 
wife of the grand vizier. The gorgeous magnificence of some 
of the palaces in which she was received, surpasses all our 
notions of elegance and splendour ; it reminds us of those scenes 
of' wonder so beautifully described in the. "Arabian Nights' 
Entertainments." •< «i.' 

Lady Mary was received by the grand vizier s lady. Two 
black eunuchs, magnificently dressed, led her through two 
ranks of young females of surpassing loveliness, the oldest of 



252 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

whom was not more than twenty years of age. But when she 
beheld the mistress of these youthful beauties, the blooming 
bride of the vizier, their charms seemed suddenly eclipsed. 
The sultana won Lady Mary's heart by her engaging man- 
ners. Every kind attention was lavished upon the beautiful 
foreigner. They were seated in a pavilion, whence they 
could perceive the rays of the setting sun gilding the swell- 
ing waves of the Dardanelles. The evening breezes brought 
with them the rich perfumes of the jasmine and the rose, 
and the distant echoes responded to the songs of the Turkish 
rowers as they plied their light caicques to or from Buyukdere. 

The most costly refreshments were served up in cups of gold 
set with precious stones, and small napkins embroidered with gold 
and silver. During the entertainment, beautiful young females 
executed the most voluptuous, and at the same time the most 
decent dances. Lady Mary compares their music to the com- 
position of the first Italian masters, and even asserts, that the 
voices of the young slaves were far more touching than those 
of the Italian singers. In reading Lady Mary^s letters, we 
may fancy we are perusing a Grecian romance of olden times. 
She has rectified many false notions heretofore entertained re- 
specting Turkish manners. She tells us that the Turkish 
women enjoy much greater freedom than is generally supposed. 
They are allowed to go, whenever they please, to the 
public baths, and by using this pretence can go out every day. 
As they are covered with a thick veil, which no man dares 
to raise, they may walk wherever they choose, and they thus 
enjoy more liberty than the women of any other country in 
Europe. 

The Turks have a refinement and delicacy of feeling which 
the western nations of Europe have never given them credit for. 

Lady Mary has translated the following Turkish song, v/hich 
Voltaire has not thought unworthy of being retranslated by him- 
self into French. These stanzas evince beautiful simplicity, 
intermingled with the figurative imagery of oriental poetry. 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 253 

The circumstance of Voltaire having translated Lady Mary's 
version into French, gives additional value to the latter. 



/ Now Philomel renews her tender strain, 
/ Indulging all the night her pleasing pain : 
/ I sought the groves to hear the wanton sing, 
I There saw a face more beauteous than the spring. 
Your large stag-eyes where thousand glories play, 
As bright, as lively, but as wild as they. 



In vain I 'm promised such a heavenly prize ; 
Ah ! cruel Sultan ! who delay 'st my joys ! 
While piercing charms transfix my amorous heart, 
I dare not snatch one kiss to ease the smart. 
Those eyes like, &c. 



Your wretched lover in these lines complains ; 
From those dear beauties rise his killing pains. 
When will the hour of wish'd-for bliss arrive ? 
Must I wait longer ? Can I wait and live ? 
Ah ! bright Sultana ! maid divinely fair, 
Can you, unpitying, see the pains 1 bear ? 



The heavens, relenting, hear my piercing cries, 
I loathe the light and sleep forsakes my eyes ; 
Turn thee. Sultana, ere thy lover dies : 
Sinking to earth, I sigh the last adieu ; 
Call me, my goddess, and my life renew. 
My queen ! my angel ! my fond heart's desire ! 
I rave— my bosom burns with heavenly fire ! 
Pity that passion which thy charms inspire. 

It was during Mr. Wortley Montagu's absence that Lady 
Mary visited the harem. It appears that he was displeased at 
the circumstance, and felt uneasy at the iunu^sual favour granted 
to his wife. (Remonstrance produced a bad effect upon a woman 
of such independent temper as Lady Mary, and the hitherto 
happy pair now became anxious for a separation.^ 



254 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

On their return to England the separation took place. A pen- 
sion of five hundred pounds a-year was settled upon Lady Mary, 
and she was allowed to travel wherever she pleased. She accord- 
ingly visited Rome and Venice, and afterwards every other part 
of Italy. She next went to France, where she resided some 
time at Nerac. On her return to England she published her 
travels to Constantinople, a work Avhich has raised her to ever- 
lasting celebrity. Europe is indebted to Lady Mary for one of 
the greatest benefits conferred upon mankind — the introduction 
of the practice ofGnoculation. Having witnessed the beneficial 
eifects of this practice in Turkey, where female beauty is so 
highly prized, she was desirous that her own nation should 
possess them. It was a remarkable thing to see a young 
female of thirty years of age struggling against old prejudices, 
the decided opinion of the faculty, and the superstitions of the 
times ; but she triumphed over every difficulty, and ultimately 
conferred this immense benefit upon Western Europe. Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu became the object of a most violent 
attack by Baron Tott, who resided a long time at Constanti- 
nople, on account of her letters written during her travels. M. 
Cruys, of Marseilles, upon whose judgment the utmost reliance 
may be placed, took up her defence in the warmest manner ; and 
his opinion cannot fail to be of great weight in such a contro- 
versy, if any doubts should still remain respecting the merits of 
Lady Mary's publication. 

Her works consist of: first, — Letters written during her tra- 
vels — secondly, a poem on the progress of poetry — thirdly, 
the Enchiridion of Epictetus, revised by Bishop Burnet, 
and published with his works. Lord Bute entrusted the editing 
of a new edition, from the original manuscript, to J. Dallaway in 
1803, five vols. 4to. republished in Paris in the same year, in 
five vols, l^mol btit ■s^4th the same title as the London edition, 
published by Sir Richard Phillips. This edition, as well is the 
copy published in Paris, is ornamented with two portraits : one 
of Lady Mary Pierrepont, 1710, who was then twenty years 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 255 

old ; and the other of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, 1720. 
As an introduction to this edition the editor has given a memoir 
jof the author. 

Lady Mary formed a literary friendship, which ultimately 
caused her more pain than it had ever afforded her pleasure. 
Being one day at a large party, she was remarked by a man 
who usvially took but little notice of the fair sex. This man 
was(Pope.> Having considered her attentively, he inquired who 
she was. He was informed that she was Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu, eldest daughter of the Duke of Kingston, and that 
though only twenty-four years of age, she had already written an 
epistle from Julia to Ovid in imitation of this latter poet, and 
translated the morals of Epictetus. Pope was delighted with 
her, and immediately wrote the only verses he ever composed 
containing expressions of gallantry. 

Lady Mary, proud of attracting the attention of such a man, 
granted him her friendship and esteem. For a long period, 
their intimacy remained uninterrupted ; but Lady Mary, 
having formed a fiiendship for Lord Harvey, Pope became 
jealous, and not succeeding in obtaining from her the sacrifice of 
this new attachment, he vowed a hatred to her, which produced 
on both sides those reciprocal and bitter satires unworthy of 
both. Very shortly after this quarrel. Lady Mary set out once 
more upon her travels. \ She used to compare herself to the 
swallow, — saying she should die if she was prevented from 
wandering to foreign places, there to breathe another air than 
that of her own country, whither, however, she wished ulti- 
mately to returnl'i She did return, and died in 1760, at the 
advanced age of seventy years. 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu will always occupy a distin- 
guished place in literature. Her descriptions are at once vivid 
and ^graphic ; nothing can be more charmijt^ Ifeii her account 
of the warm baths of Sophia. How well she depicts the mag- 
nificence of the Turkish baths : the marble domes through 
which the light penetrates through the cupola, refreshing foun- 



256 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

tains in tlic middle of the halls, and all round couches of marble 
covered with costly carpets and rich cushions. She is par- 
ticularly happy in her description of the women in those rooms, 
who invited her to bathe with them. (They were, she states, 
without any clothing, and the young female slaves, occupied in 
netting and perfuming their hair, were also in a state of nudity. 
And yet, she says, it is impossible to describe the air of decency, 
modesty, and simplicity conspicuous in all those women.\ 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's letters will always be ad- 
mired and appreciated at their true value by every person of 
taste. Lady Mary has been termed the (Sevigne of England : 
this title is, however, misapplied. She has not the vivacity of 
style which distinguishes Madame de Sevigne, neither does she 
possess that lady's sensibility. Lady Mary's writings flow with 
a delightful elegance, not unmixed with a spirit of philosophy 
and freedom. Madame de Sevigne feels more than she reflects ; 
others perhaps ^vrite that which they do not feel. I do not 
conceive that the writings of Madame de Sevigne would excite 
much interest if translated into a foreign language ; but Lady 
Mary's seem to have been "written for all countries without 
distinction. 



257 



MARIE ANTIONETTE, 

QUEEN OF FRANCE AND NAVARRE. 

Is tliere a woman who does not feel a reverential awe at the 
name of this sainted martyr ? Is there a Frenchwoman who 
would not glory in the task of recording the eventful life of the 
noble Marie Antoinette, her unhappy destiny, and the tragical 
termination of her sufferings, when her pure spirit, released from 
its earthly tenement, flew to its kindred sphere, and prayed for 
those who devoted her, in the prime of her days, to a cruel and 
ignominious death ? 

Marie Antoinette Josephe Jeanne de Lorraine, Archduchess 
of Austria and Queen of France and Navarre, was the daughter 
of the Emperor Francis Stephen and the Empress Maria The- 
resa, Queen of Bohemia and Hungary. She was born at 
Vienna, on the 2nd of November 1755. Her education, like 
that of all the other children of Maria Theresa, was most carefully 
attended to. This empress did not think that the duties of 
her exalted station ought to prevent her from fulfilling those of 
a mother. Marie Antoinette applied herself to her studies with 
an eagerness seldom found among the offspring of royalty, and 
made extraordinary progress in every branch of her studies. 

The Countess of Brandeys, grand-mistress and governess of 
the young princess, used to delight in relating each day to the 
empress some new trait of goodness or wit in her young pupil. 
" Ah,"' exclaimed Maria Theresa one day, " do not talk to me 
of that child ! too soon shall I be deprived of her. I have 
brought her up for others and not for myself.'^ 



258 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

It was the Duke de Clioiseul, who, under the directions of 
Madame de Pompadour, negotiated the marriage between Marie 
Antoinette and the Duke de Berry, Dauphin of France. When 
the demand was officially made, the empress returned for an- 
swer : " I have brought up my daughter as destined one day to 
become a French woman. I entreat you to inform the king 
that he realizes my fondest hopes.""* 

The Abbe de Vermont was sent as preceptor to the arch- 
duchess, in order to instruct her in the manners and usages of 
the family and court which were shortly to become her own. 

The day before Marie Antoinette's departure, her mother, 
taking her into her private apartment, gave her the most admir- 
able instructions to guide her future conduct in her adopted 
country. Amid the grief which their approaching separation 
caused the empress, she made, in her counsels to her beloved 
daughter, some remarks worthy of being recorded. 
. -^"^ I have made you study,"' said she, " those historians who 
have written upon situations similar to that in which you are 
going to be placed. You know the imprudences and misfor- 
tunes of the widow of Henry IV. Courtiers are cast in the 
same mould — they all resemble each other. Do not set any 
value on your external advantages except as means of pleasing 
the French nation. Be ever compassionate and merciful, even 
if you constantly find ingratitude. Let worth alone be the 
object of your esteem. "1^^~ 

On the following day the empress bade a last farewell to her 
daughter. In spite of her firmness of character, her tears be- 
trayed the anguish of her heart. The whole population followed 
the carriages of the archduchess to a considerable distance, and 
loaded her with blessings. One might have imagined that the 
Austrians foresaw the unhappy destiny of their young and 
beautiful princess. 

All the cities of France through which Marie Antoinette 
passed, vied with each other in zeal for the reception of the 
young Dauphiness. ( Her beauty, her s^race, and the charm of 

V 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 259 

her manners were everywhere admired.! The young students 
of a town, I believe, in Champagne, thinking to surpass the 
others, addressed her in Latin. Their astonishment, and that of 
all the French who were present, may well be conceived, when 
they heard the Archduchess reply in the same language, and 
with classic purity utter the most impressive words. 

'(_! answer in Latin," she said, " in order to conform to the 
language of your feeling address ; but the French language 
is that which is most grateful to my heart, henceforward devo- 
tedly French. I quit with regret my kind parents, by whom I 
am beloved ; yours behold and accompany you : — how happy 
are they, and how fortunate are you !" 

The young princess was received at Strasbourg with great 
magnificence, but it was in this city that she was to be separated 
from everything connected with her country, in order to be 
handed over to France. This was a severe trial for a young girl 
of fourteen, thus suddenly severed from her early habits and 
youthful affections. Amid the festivities in her honour at the 
palace of the Cardinal-Bishop, her tears were seen to flow. In 
vain, to hide her sorrow, did she cast a listless glance at her 
gold spoon, as if she were admiring its exquisite workmanship : 
she could scarcely command words to address the aged Cardinal 
cle Rohan, whose care it was to entertain her. 

At Compiegne, Louis XV., accompanied by all his court and 
his numerous family, went to meet the Archduchess. It is well 
known, that ten months before, he had been on the point of 
demanding her in marriage for himself, but he abandoned the 
design in consequence of receiving secret information that he 
would meet with a refusal. Maria Theresa would never have 
consented thus to sacrifice her beloved daughter. 

The interview was extremely affecting. Marie Antoinette, 
bathed in tears, cast herself at the feet of her futee grandfather, 
and at the very first moment gained his affection and the love 
of several members of the royal family, by one of those spon- 
taneous acts which give at once and for ever an insight into 
individual character. On the arrival of the royal party at St. 

u 



260 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Denis, she begged, of her own accord, to be allowed to visit 
Madame Louise, who was then prioress of the Carmelites, and 
whose portrait she possessed. Madame Louise was much gra- 
tified by this amiable proceeding from so young a princess, and 
Mesdames Adelaide and Victoire, who had been unfavourably 
disposed to the alliance, began to view Marie Antoinette with 
more impartial eyes. 

The festivities on the occasion of the marriage were of a mag- 
nificence that seemed to revive the splendour of the reign of 
Louis XIV., but they were also attended with such di-eadful 
misfortunes, that a fatality seemed attached to the young and 
royal couple. Immediately after the nuptial ceremony, the 
weather became overcast, and both Paris and Versailles were 
visited by a terrific storm, which entirely dispersed the inhabit- 
ants whom the public rejoicings had drawn together in immense 
crowds. The festival given by the city of Paris was also attended 
with a lamentable accident, and more than twenty thousand per- 
sons perished from the negligence of the lieutenant of police. 
Some miscreants, wishing to avail themselves of the confusion 
which such a scene could not fail to occasion, had thrown ropes 
across an unpaved part of the town where some buildings were 
erecting. These ropes caused innumerable falls, and the crowds, 
unable to disengage themselves, were precipitated in masses 
upon the ground, presenting the most appalling image of human 
suffering. The Dauphin and Dauphiness deeply lamented this 
deplorable event, which seemed the presage of their future mis- 
fortunes, j Marie Antoinette at this period was only fourteen 
years and five months old.^ 

Notwithstanding her extreme youth, her conduct was ahvays 
admirable. She evinced perfect tact in her indirect commu- 
nications with the King's favourite, whatever aversion she neces- 
sarily must have entertained for such a woman as the Countess Du 
Barry. She never allowed the slightest mark of disapprobation 
of the King's conduct to escape her in public. The party of the 
princesses, the King's aunts, who were opposed to her, attempted 
to draw from her some censorious expressions ; but the only an- 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 261 

swer slie ever made relative to the frail countess was, "She 
is extremely pretty ; I think her charming." 

After the death of Louis XV. Madame du Barry was de- 
prived of her whole fortune, and confined in a convent in one of 
the provinces. She, however, wrote to the new queen, who 
succeeded in overcoming the dislike of Louis XVI. towards 
her, and Lucienne was restored to her as well as part of her 
fortune. (Madame Du Barry was indeed ever grateful for this 
act, and she perished by the axe of the guillotine for having worn 
mourning on the death of the King and Queen.' 

The following account of Marie Antoinette was given by the 
Duchess de Duras to a person worthy of belief, and from whom 
I myself heard it. This person asked if the Queen was a very 
intellectual woman ? 

'**' " *^' On important occasions," the Duchess replied, " the Queen 
always expressed herself with the propriety and dignity of her 
rank. In her domestic circle, she was mild and obliging, and * 
always sought to draw out others. She disliked satire and ridi- 
cule, and one day in presence of myself and my mother, ex- 
pressed her displeasure with great warmth to Madame de C * * *, 
a lady satirically disposed, who was making her remarks upon the 
whole of the court. ' Madam,' said the Queen, ' would you like to 
be treated thus during your absence.' The Queen afterwards 
mentioned this circumstance to my mother, and asked her 
advice. The Marechale de Mouchy replied, that in her 
situation, which her youth rendered so delicate, it was advisable 
for her to act with extreme reserve when she did not appear in 
state ceremony. ' Read a great deal,' added my mother ; 
' your Royal Highness will learn and recollect a great deal, and 
will have thus at command topics of conversation, which will 
occur naturally, either during your rides, your walks, or your 
hunting parties.' " * 

Louis XVI. was also fond of study, but unfortunately the 
bent of his mind led him to learn those things which made Jiim 
forget that he was a monarch. He wished to know how to make 
a lock, and knew not how to govern an empire. 

u2 



262 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Towards tlie end of 1778, the Queen became a mother. This 
event, so long and ardently wished for, filled the nation with 
joy. Marie Antoinette's brothers, the Archduke Maximilian and 
the Emperor Joseph II., came to visit her, and were then able 
to judge of the feelings of adoration which the whole French 
nation entertained for her. One evening they went with the 
Queen to the opera, where they arrived at the moment when 
the chorus in Iphigenia sings these words : 

" Chantons, celebrons notre Heine." 

The whole of the spectators testified their feelings at the 
allusion by the most rapturous applause. The actors were 
called upon to repeat the words, and the audience accompanied 
the singers. Marie Antoinette, deeply affected, could not 
refrain from shedding tears of gi-atitude and affection. Her 
brother, unable to contain his feelings, rose and exclaimed 
aloud, " Ah ! what happiness it is to reign over such a 
nation !'' 

Subsequently to this period the Emperor cruelly retracted 
these words ! 

Three years after, the Queen gave birth to another son, and 
at the expiration of a like period she gave another prince to the 
French nation. This time, the love of the people seemed to 
have no bounds. When the Queen, according to the usual 
custom, went to return thanks at the church of St. Genevieve 
du Mont, the people wanted to take the horses from the 
carriage, and draw her through the streets of Paris. 
--This carriage itself Avas a masterpiece of taste and elegance. 
Instead of panels, beautiful plate-glass formed the sides of the 
vehicle, and was confined with slight rods of silver gilt inlaid 
with emeralds, diamonds, and rubies. The Queen herself was 
dazzling with yeilthful' beauty and magnificence of attire. ' ^^ 

When she reached the place now called " Place du Pan- 
theon,*" the whole of the immense crowd that covered it fell 
on their knees, and expressed with shouts of joy their de-» 
sire " to see the Queen walk." The captain of the guards 



MARIE ANTOINE'^T. 263 

on duty came and informed Marie Antoinette of tlie wish of 
the people. 

'* Yes ! yes V" she replied, deeply affected, " I will walk. 
Go and say that I will walk to the door of the church.'^ 

The ground was instantly covered with the most beautiful 
hangings of the Abbey of St. Genevieve. The Clergy, who 
had been waiting for the Queen at the entrance of the church, 
came to meet her, and she crossed the whole of the square on 
foot, amid the joyous acclamations of the people. 

Marie Antoinette, after her first confinement, received from 
the King a present, which, though trifling in appearance, 
became afterwards the cause of the greate^ distress to her. 
This was the ^ift of Trianon. The Queen was extremely fond 
of the country, and she loved above all things that freedom in 
which, in the sumptuous gardens of Versailles, she could not 
indulge. She found a peculiar charm in the rustic plantations 
of this delightful spot, and felt happy when Louis XVI. said 
to her — " Trianon is wholly yours.'^ 
/tK It is indeed a most enchanting spot. On quitting the 
stately avenues of Versailles with their bronze and marble 
fountains, you could almost imagine yourself transported among 
the chalets of Switzerland, or the equally interesting scenery of 
Auvergne. But it was especially during -the time it belonged 
to the Queen, that this romantic place appeared most lovely and 
attractive. A limpid stream kept the wheels of a mill in con- 
stant motion ; a verdant and flowery lawn refreshed the eye. 
Lofty trees, both indigenous and exotic, presented a luxuriant 
foliage, realizing what is told of the solitudes of the new world. 
The trees and plantations were objects of the greatest care. 
The plantations in the park were most picturesque. The prin- 
cipal cottage represented a rustic dwelling of Zurich, or of the 
environs of Sallanches. The dairy, the mil]|^ and the scenes 
around offered a beautiful picture of rustic simplicity. Every 
embellishment was admirable, and in perfect keeping with the 
scenery. 

The Queen took with her but few attendants in her journeys 



264 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

to Trianon. Everything relating to court etiquette was aban- 
doned on leaving Versailles. In this chosen retreat she adopted 
the simplicity of a country life./ She rose early, and with her 
few attendants used to eat milk and new laid eggs at the dairy/) 
The day was spent in walking, conversation, and different kinds 
of employment. Thus did Marie Antoinette sometimes spend 
whole weeks in a way so congenial to her feelings that she then 
appeared perfectly happy. But this state of things did not 
last long. The great nobles, in their stately pride, demanded a 
preference which the Queen would not grant. Foiled in their 
demands, and envious of the favour shown to others, they had 
recourse to calumny, which seldom fails to accomplish the ruin 
of its victim. Marie Antoinette was soon apprised of these 
proceedings, but would not stoop to notice them. She already 
gave proofs of that loftiness of soul, which on another occasion 
prompted her to say : "I have seen everything, heard every- 
thing, and forgotten everything." 

The diabolical efforts of her calumniators were not however 
thrown away, and the Queen, indignant at the reports spread 
relative to her excursions to Trianon, went there much less 
frequently, and in order that this peaceful spot should not fall 
into ruins, she established there ten families of peasants, who 
inhabited the place until her martyrdom took place. 

Louis was crov/ned at Rheims shortly after he came to the 
throne. The utmost magnificence was displayed on this occa- 
sion. Marie Antoinette was seen only in the royal gallery, 
where she appeared so lovely that every eye was directed to- 
wards her in admiration of her youthful beauty, decked with a 
thousand sparkling gems. Who could then have anticipated 
that the object of so much love and admiration would one day 
fall under the revolutionary axe ? Who would have thought 
that such a fate. could befall her whom people watched for, 
whole days together, in the gallery of Versailles, merely to catch 
a single glimpse of her. I have lately heard from an individual 
formerly attached to her person, that when she dined in public, 
the crowd of people was so great that the body guards and 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 265 

officers of the palace were compelled to send away immense 
numbers for want of room. 

At this period things began already to wear a threatening 
aspect ; but no presage of future misery can be compared to 
the singular and unfortunate event which prepared and was, in 
a manner, the first act of the dreadful tragedy which ended in 
her death. I allude to the affair of the necklace. It was this 
event, apparently so trifling in itself, that struck the first blow 
which made the throne of the Bourbons totter. It must, how- 
ever, be confessed, that the incapacity of M. de Breteuil was 
the cause of nearly the whole evil, and Louis XVI., badly ad- 
vised, completed the misfortune. 

In the month of May 1785, Bohmer and Bossanges, the crown 
jewellers, showed the Queen a diamond necklace, which they - 
valued at sixteeen hundred thousand francs, about 64,000/. 
Marie Antoinette admired the extraordinary beauty of the neck- 
lace, but objected to the price, and even observed, " I should 
prefer that the King bought a ship." Nothing more was said 
respecting the valuable necklace ; but a few months after, the 
Baron de Breteuil, minister of Paris and of the King's house- 
hold, was informed by Bohmer and Bossanges that they had 
sold a necklace for sixteen hundred thousand francs to Cardinal 
de Rohan Guemene, Bishop of Strasburg, who had given them 
in payment bills signed by the Queen. Circumstances having 
transpired to make the jewellers uneasy, they came to consult 
the minister upon the subject, and show the bills bearing the 
Queen's signature. 

Monsieur de Breteuil instantly apprised the Queen of this 
circumstance. In the first moment of surprise Marie Antoinette 
was almost struck dumb ; but having recovered her self-posses- 
sion, she asked for the bills, and saw immediately that her signa- 
ture had been forged. It had been imitated by a person igno- 
rant of her manner of signing. The bills Avere signed, " Marie 
Antoinette de France." The Queen on this occasion lost her 
usual command of temper. Cardinal de Rohan had always been 
her enemy, and had endeavoured to prevent her marriage with 



266 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

the King. She looked upon this circumstance as a plot formed 
against her, and deserving of the severest punishment. The 
Cardinal was arrested while proceeding in his robes to officiate 
as grand-almoner, on Easter-day. He was conducted to the 
King's closet, and in presence of the Queen and the ministers, 
he still maintained that he had in his possession letters from 
the Queen, requesting him to purchase the necklace for her. 
Marie Antoinette, giving way to her anger, rose from her 
seat, and advancing to the Cardinal, placed before his eyes 
one of the bills given by Bohmer, saying, in the most marked 
manner — 

i^JEave you. Cardinal, been ambassador at Vienna, only to 
learn so imperfectly how a daughter of the house of Austria 
signs her name .?" 

..- The Cardinal cast his eyes upon the signature. Struck with 
the Queen's question, he began no doubt to suspect that he 
had been the dupe of an artful impostor, who had worked suffi- 
ciently upon his credulity to make him overlook a very clumsy 
imitation of the Queen's signature. He made ho reply. On 
leaving the King's closet, he was conducted to the Bastille. 
On his way thither, he found means to give an order in German 
to a confidential servant, who immediately repaired to the Car- 
dinal's palace, and burnt all the papers, relating to this transac- 
tion, which might have committed his master. 

It must be owned that the conduct of the King and Queen 
was marked by the greatest imprudence, in causing the Cardi- 
nal to be brought to trial. The King ought to have been 
aware that in the actual state of excitement of the public mind, 
such an exposure could not but prove dangerous to the security 
of his throne. He ought to have paid for the necklace, banished 
the Cardinal, deprived him of all his offices, or done anything, 
in short, to avoid these proceedings. 

****** 

Two children were found begging in the village of Auteuil. 
The Marchioness de Boulainvilliers took pity upon them, and 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 267 

finding that they were in possession of papers which proved 
that they belonged, in some way or other, to the race of Valois, 
she took them under her protection. Louis XVI. authorised 
them to assume the name and arms of Valois. The boy was 
provided with a commission in the army, the girl married a body- 
guard of the Count d'Artois, named De Lamothe. 

This woman, the most intriguing character that ever existed 
succeeded in attracting the Cardinal's notice. At this period, he 
sincerely repented of the opposition he had shown to the Queen''s 
marriage ; for through Marie Antoinette's influence, which was 
now becoming all powerful, he thought he might realize his am- 
bitious hope of obtaining office, and perhaps the presidency of 
the council. He used every endeavour to get into favour 
again with the Queen, who, however, did not disguise the 
feelings of aversion she entertained towards him. These par- 
ticulars soon became known to Madame de Lamothe, who 
had obtained a knowledge of the offer of the necklace to the 
Queen, and her ingenuity suggested a plan which she set about 
executing immediately. Having gained the entire confidence 
of the Cardinal, a thing easy in itself — for it is well known that 
weak-minded men always go to extremes both in their con- 
fidence and in their mistrust — her next step was to induce him 
to accompany her to Versailles, where she was in the habit of 
going for the ostensible purpose of soliciting the Queen in her 
own behalf. The Cardinal even used to conduct her to the foot of 
the private staircase that led to the petits appartemens. One day 
she brought him a letter from the Queen, and the credulous pre- 
late was so overjoyed on perusing it, that it almost bereft him 
of his senses. It contained a request that the Cardinal would 
lend the Queen sixty thousand francs, which she wished to apply 
to charitable purposes, and which she begged him to advance 
out of the funds of the Grand Almonry.- The Cardinal, 
blinded by the most extraordinary delusion, gave the money to 
Madame De Lamothe, who, seeing with what facility she made 
him her dupe, no longer hesitated to lay her snare, the gross- 
ness of which did not open the eyes of the infatuated and 



268 ,*i0-JVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

ambitious prelate. She now mentioned the neckhice, and the 
desire which, as she stated, the Queen had expressed to obtain it. 
At length she brought letters from Marie Antoinette, which she 
no longer found any difficulty in fabricating, begging the Car- 
dinal to purchase the wished-for necklace for her, from Bohmer 
and Bossange, and being unable to pay for it immediately, 
she begged him to endorse her bills to the jewellers. This 
pretended request was immediately complied with. 

The Cardinal, however, in spite of his credulity, showed some 
slight mistrust after he had delivered this valuable ornament into 
the hands of a servant wearing the King's livery, who came to 
fetch it in the Queen's name. Throughout the whole of these 
proceedings, the Cardinal gave proofs of the most extraordi- 
nary blindness and weakness, and even of stupidity. It is 
truly inconceivable that he did not see through the shallow 
artifice, when a man-servant came as he said from the Queen to 
receive a necklace of such value ; and his tardy hesitation was 
but another proof of the singular imbecility of his character. 
Madame de Lamothe, struck with the thoughtful expression of 
his countenance after he had delivered the trinkets, informed 
him that the Queen was desirous of thanking him personally, 
and that he was to go on the following night to the gardens 
of Versailles, where, at twelve o'clock, being an hour at which 
the Queen frequently walked in the park with the princesses 
her sisters-in-law, she would leave them for a moment and speak 
to him. The Cardinal, in a delirium of joy, banished all suspi- 
cion from his mind and under the action of excessive vanity, 
prepared for the interview. He dressed himself in pink silk, 
and was taken by Madame de Lamothe to the avenue of tulip- 
trees, then called the Queen's avenue. After waiting a few 
minutes, Jie saw a female figure advance towards him, whom 
he recognised as the Queen. It was her gait, her dress, the man- 
ner of wearing her hair, which was always very remarkable, and 
the peculiar perfume which Marie Antoinette always carried 
about her. She spoke a few words, in a very low tone of 
voice, and having allowed him to kiss her hand, the brilliant 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 269 

vision disappeared, leaving the poor Cardinal on his knees, lost in 
ecstasy, which would have been quickly dispelled had he known 
whose hand he had just saluted with such profound respect. 
y^The Cardinal himself gave all these particulars to the com- 
missioners of the parliament, delegated to examine the affair. 
This iniquitous transaction very shortly became known. The 
Cardinal learned, with the whole of Europe, that he had been 
the dupe of designing villains : that the bills were forgeries, 
as well as all the pretended letters of the Queen, who never 
had the slightest intention of restoring the Cardinal to her 
favour ; and in short, that the female who had spoken to him in 
the gardens of Versailles, was a courtesan paid for acting the 
part of the Queen. In the first moment of alarm, the Countess 
de Lamothe had sent this woman to Holland; but she was arrested 
there, and brought to Paris, where she made a full confession of 
everything, so far as she was concerned. 

Madame de Lamothe persisted in denying her guilt. She as- 
serted that she had often been admitted to the Queen, who did not 
even know her personally. She was unable to mention the name 
of a single officer of tjie chamber, nor even of the palace, nor 
of any lady attached to the household ; but the public, always 
eager for scandal, believed everything, and the more so be- 
because Marie Antoinette made no public denial. Louis XVL, 
who did not seem aware that the Queen was a party concerned 
in the judicial proceedings, replied to her, when she requested 
that a detailed statement of the whole transaction should be pub- 
lished, " That it was beneath the dignity of a Queen of France 
to enter into explanations with the public." In that case the 
public ought not to have been allowed to institute proceedings 
implicating the Queen and the Cardinal. Silence and severity 
were the only means that should have been resorted to. It is thus 
that Louis XIV. would have acted; and then the King would 
have been justified in expressing himself as he did. 

In 1781, a Madame de Villers, wife of a treasurer of France, 
had also forged the Queen's signature to bills for eight hundred 
thousand livres, which she had signed " Marie Antoinette 



270 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Queen.'"' Madame de Villers was arrested. Her husband, a 
man of the greatest respectability, threw himself at the feet of 
his sovereign, and promised to pay the bills. The King and 
Queen allowed no farther proceedings to take place, and par- 
doned the treasurer's wife. 

By a judgment of the parliament of Paris, the Cardinal was 
condemned to pay the sixteen hundred thousand francs for the 
necklace. He was further banished from the country, and lost 
everything that could be taken from him. Madame de Lamothe 
was sentenced to be whipped and branded, as having committed 
forgery. In consideration of the name she bore, the sentence 
was executed in the interior of the prison. She was afterwards 
sent to the Salpetriere. The Superior of that establishment, an 
ignorant and fanatical woman, looked upon the Countess as a 
victim of arbitrary power, and alone caused as much injury to the 
Queen by her active malevolence, as Madame de Lamothe herself 
had done during the judicial proceedings. When the Princess 
de Lamballe came from the Queen to offer the Countess her 
pardon if she would confess the truth, the Superior insolently 
refused the Princess access to the prisoner, saying, " she is not 
condemned to see you.'' A few days after, a rope-ladder was 
found on the walls of the prison, by means of which the Countess 
de Lamothe was supposed to have made her escape. A carriage 
and four took her in a few hours to Calais, whence she em- 
barked for England. She there wrote a libel against the Queen, 
which M. de Breteuil was weak enough to purchase for a 
hundred thousand francs. Madame de Lamothe kept, however, a 
copy, and after the 10th of August, the pamphlet was circulated 
through every part of France, and indeed of Europe. One 
bookseller alone, named Batillot, sold upwards of ten thousand 
copies. 

Such was the affair of the necklace. I have related it in de- 
tail, because I can vouch for the truth of my statement. The 
Queen's innocence in this iniquitous transaction, the authors 
of which had no other aim than to make a weak-minded 
man their dupe and accomplice, cannot possibly be doubted ; 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 271 

and yet the infamy which ought to have recoiled upon the per- 
petrators of the foul deed, seemed, on the contrary, to attach 
itself to the unfortunate Marie Antoinette. 

The misfortunes which overwhelmed France were now about to 
begin. M. Turgot, M. de Calonne, M. Necker, the Abbe de 
Brienne or rather the Archbishop of Toulouse, by turns ap- 
peared upon the political stage. The first, who was the most 
virtuous of ministers, seemed by his brief career, to render his 
successors, with the exception of M. Necker, objects of public 
execration. The second was a madman, and the primary cause 
of the revolutionary tempest. M. de Necker was the only man 
who could have done any good, and guided the vessel of 
the state with the firmest hand in those troubled times. The 
Queen supported him, for her discerning mind saw the good 
he could eiFect. But what could be done with a man like Louis 
XVI., who refused a seat in his council to one of his ministers 
because he professed the Protestant religion ? It is true, that as 
a kind of compensation, he granted him the entree to his privy 
chamber. Such inconsistency and fanatic imbecility can scarcely 
be credited. 

But the doom of France was sealed on the day the Arch- 
bishop of Toulouse appeared at the head of affairs. It was the 
Abbe de Vermond, formerly preceptor to the Queen, who, for 
the misfortune of the country, introduced him to the notice of 
Marie Antoinette. The popular excitement was every day be- 
coming more dreadful, and a crisis appeared inevitable — for 
abuse had reached its climax. ( ihat awful moment required a 
man of superior stamp, whose powerful mind might have di- 
rected the social movement, so inevitable and so requisite ; but, 
instead of a saviour, an individual appeared at the head of affairs 
little calculated to avert impending danger. This priest without 
religion, knew not when to be lenient or se^^jre^..;.. Timid when 
circumstances required more than common energy, rash when pru- 
dential measures would have proved most beneficial, the appoint- 
ment of Cardinal de Brienne was one of the greatest misfor- 
tunes that could have occurred in such time&\ 



.y 



272 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

But Marie Antoinette saw the danger, and advised him to 
resign. She then asked for the recall of M. Necker. 

" I was mistaken,''' said the Queen, with the greatest candour, 
to a person who repeated her words to me ; " but I think I 
possess sufficient influence over the King to induce him to 
recall M. Necker, who will save the country." 

The Assembly of the States-General now met, and that which 
might have saved France and the throne, was exactly what pre- 
pared the horrible catastrophe that shortly followed. Every- 
thing was tending towards a consummation which no earthly 
power could arrest. I again repeat it : — a firm and powerful 
hand was required to direct the movement. The first objects 
attended to were peurile forms of etiquette, which were shortly to 
become the cause of dreadful calamities. Thus, in the ceremony 
to be observed on the reception of the three orders, the most 
singular distinctions were reserved for the Tiers-Etat. It seemed 
as if they had been devised in order to insult that body in the most 
humiliating manner. The Clergy were received in the great closet 
of the King, the Nobles in the drawing-room, and the Tiers- 
Etat in the hall, or rather the anti-chamber, called the " Salle de 
Louis XIV." For the two first orders the folding-doors were 
thrown open ; the Tiers-Etat had but one door opened, without 
which indeed they could not have passed. The Nobles and the 
Clergy were to salute the King with a profound bow ; it was inti- 
mated to the Tiers-Etat that they were to kneel. ( The blindest 
infatuation seemed to preside over all these arrangements. ,: 

At this period, the Court ought to have gained over to their 
party a man powerful enough to crush those who outraged it, 
and who might have saved them. Every sacrifice ought to 
have been made to secure the co-operation of Mirabeau. 

Marie Antoinette had become the object of the most slan- 
derous libels, published in alarming numbers. She insisted 
upon being made acquainted with everything, upon reading 
everything, and she then foresaw all that would inevitably 
happen. 

The day before the opening of the States-General, Marie 



Mx\RIE ANTOINETTE. 273 

Antoinette, in a conference with the King, expressed herself 
with remarkable energy. 

^-N, '' Let us,"" she said, " find a remedy for the misfortunes of the 
state. Let no sacrifice be too great for us. Your crown and 
the fate of all our family are at stake. The Clergy offered me 
yesterday, through the young Archbishop of Toulouse and the 
Bishop of Uzes, half of their revenues ; and they propose to 
you to raise loans upon the church property. The Order of 
Malta has made the same proposal. Sell your private domains 
— you have a right to do so. Henry IV. gave nearly the whole 
of his to the crown. Of what use can these domains be to us if 
we are to perish ? Your apartments of the wardrobe are filled 
with immense riches, and the most costly jewels. Add to these 
the jewels of the crown. Sell everything. I will myself give up 
every jewel I possess. The incapacity or dishonesty of your 
ministers have led us into a labyrinth ; — let us get out of it by 
our own energy. Let us save France by our own personal means, 
since unjust prejudice has deprived us of the public confidence. 
Sir," continued the Queen, deeply affected, " weigh well these 
matters. You are going to-morrow to open Pandora's box — a 
thousand evils will be the consequence.'' 

The King's resolution was unshaken. " I have promised the 
States-General to the nation," he said, "and I must keep my 
word." 

On the following day. May 5th 1789, the States-General 
were opened. The King and Queen were received with de- 
monstrations of the liveliest affection, which seemed almost 
to indicate a happy termination of all the troubles of the 
royal pair. The Queen, overcome by the intensity of her feel- 
ings, shed tears in abundance, which being remarked by the 
multitude, cries of " Long live the Queen," were uttered long 
and loud. But, alas ! this was the last smile that fortune gave 
to the doomed Marie Antoinette. 

M. Necker was but too well aware of the hostile feelings 
entertained by the Tiers-Etat towards him. The Nobles 
and Clergy also disliked him. He was thus placed in an un- 



274 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

favourable and difficult situation between the adverse parties. 
Meanwhile, the King remained passive, the government was 
reduced to half measures, the faction of the Palais Royal re- 
doubled its intrigues, and the storm raged everywhere with 
violence. 

Each succeeding day brought some fresh calamity. The 
plunder of the arsenal, the taking of the Bastille, the burning of 
the barriers, the defection of the French guards, the murder of 
Berthier, and that of Foidon, whom the populace hung at a 
lamp-post and then cut in pieces, were the preludes of the 6th of 
October. 

It is almost always a misfortune to judge of one situation by 
another, and to expect the same results from the same facts. 
The Queen perhaps, wished to imitate her mother, when the 
latter, taking her son in her arms, showed herself like a heroine 
to the Hungarians devoted to her cause. Marie Antoinette 
thouo-ht that the same means might prove beneficial to her : 
but she deceived herself She caused the regiment of Flanders 
to proceed to Versailles and there fraternize with the body 
guard. In this she committed one of those errors which decide 
the fate of an empire. The Queen walked round the tables 
with her son and Madame Royale. She was received with 
marks of attachment and no doubt of devotedness ; but two 
davs afterwards, thirtv thousand men marched to Versailles and 
massacred the body guard. The particulars of that dreadful 
day are too well known to need repetition here. The Queen's 
life, the principal object of the fury of the murderers, was saved 
onlv bv the courage and presence of mind displayed by Madame 
Elizabeth. The King, in order to quiet the excitement of the 
people, consented to quit Versailles and reside at Paris. From 
that moment his doom was sealed. 

The Chatelet at Paris commenced proceedings relative to the 
excesses committed in the night of the 5th of October. The nu- 
merous witnesses examined, accused the Duke of Orleans and the 
Duke of Aiquilon. The Queen, interrogated concerning what 
mio'ht have come to her knowledge, gave the noble answer which 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 275 

I have already mentioned : "I saw everything, I knew every- 
thing, but I have forgotten everything." 

The Duke of Orleans then set out for England. It was ex- 
traordinary that he should have undertaken this journey at such 
a time ; but what was still more so, was his intimacy in that 
country with Pitt, the bitterest enemy of France. - 

As I am writing the history of Marie Antoinette, rather than 
that of the revolution, I will relate an anecdote of her, which 
the words I have just quoted recall to my mind. 

Whilst she was Dauphiness, she had some cause of com- 
plaint against a major of the body-guard named M. de Ponte- 
coulant. When she became Queen, he immediately resigned. 
Marie Antoinette, being informed of this, instantly sent for the 
Prince de Beauveau, and said to him : " Go to M. de Ponte- 
coulant, and tell him that the Queen does not avenge the quar- 
rels of the Dauphiness ; and that she requests him to forget the 
past, and continue his services near her person." 
: On her arrival in Paris, she gave three hundred thousand 
francs to redeem the clothes pawned by the poor; but such 
was the popular frenzy which had been excited against her that 
nothing could allay its fury. Every action of hers, however noble 
and generous, only turned against herself- — misfortune and violent 
death had marked her for their victim. 

(A man now appeared, whose name seemed to rank him among 
the defenders of the throne, but who placed himself at the head 
of its enemies — I mean the Marquis de Lafayette. I do not 
think that the part he took in the revolution was either foreseen 
or premeditated. At the college of Plessis, where he was 
educated, he was observed to be mild, retiring, thoughtful, and 
of a religious turn. Nothing in him announced that he was 
destined to be what he has since passed for — the chief of a party. 
My opinion is, that Avith him everything has been the effect 
of chance, nothing the result of calculation. I am confinned in 
the view I take of this man by the judgment of individuals 
fully capable of appreciating his true character ; for I was my- 
self too young to form a proper estimate of his merits. Nor 



276 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

have I had reason to alter my opinion. What is peculiarly 
remarkable in M. de Lafayette, is his perfectly mild and gentle- 
manly manners and conversation, the easy, lordly air which never 
left him in any of the situations, however trying, into which 
he was thrown during the revolution. Even in the midst 
of the factions of the 6th of October, during the most dreadful 
days of this great political convulsion, he was still the " Mar- 
quis de Lafayette."" Even now, he preserves this courtly 
suavity of demeanour in his relations with men to whom it is , 
quite unknown, even by tradition. The Marquis de Lafayette 
also fell into the mistake of appreciating passing events by the 
test of what he had seen in America. ,. This mania of conti- 
nually comparing America with France, and England with 
France, led to the most deplorable consequences. A person of 
no gTcat mental endowments might have discovered that thp-i 
docile and single-hearted Americans were easy to govern accord-, 
ing to the will of their rulers.(} M. de Lafayette imagined that 
he could in the same manner lead the population of the Paris 
fauxbourgs ; but more than once the infuriated mob, thirsting 
for blood and plunder, made him tremble at their vociferations, 
I know not whether I am mistaken in my opinion that, if, 
of late years, M. de Lafayette has passed in mental review the 
events of that awful period, there are days which he would 
willingly have obliterated from his memory. He is, however, 
an honourable man, as much so as any in France, and his philan- 
thropic philosophy renders him deserving of universal esteem. 
But there are few men who, in recurring to the events of their 
past life, do not find one single cloud, hanging like a spot 
upon the brightness of their existence. T\ 

,- It was about this period that the throne received a shock 
from which it was not destined ever to recover : I allude to 
the emigration of the nobles. Louis XVI., deserted by his 
court, and exposed, with the Queen and his children, to 
the wild passions of men who probably did not at that time 
desire his death, but who, when they became the masters, 
wished to level everything,— saw no chance of avoiding a. 



MARIR ANTOINETTE. 277 

dreadful death, but by flight. The Queen formed a plan, 
which was, that they should leave St. Cloud and proceed to 
Havre de Grace, and there embark for the Netherlands, then 
governed by tlie Archduchess Christina. Everything was pre- 
pared ; but the Queen having demanded a list of the officers of 
the navy stationed at Havre, saw in it the name of Vice-Ad- 
miral Bare de St. Leu, a natural son of the Duke of Orleans. 
She refused to trust to him ; and her plan, the best that could 
have been devised, was abandoned for that of Varennes. 

Baron Goguelot, one of the Queen's secretaries, was sent 
to ascertain the safety of the route. Every possible precaution 
was taken, and the unfortunate royal family prepared to quit 
France. 

The King and Queen were closely watched at the Tuileries, 
by persons attached to their household. Madame Campan has 
been accused, but wrongfully ; she may have entertained some 
fears for her own safety and that of her child, but she never 
betrayed her royal mistress. 

^- There was a person employed in the service of the baths and 
petits appartemens, named Madame Rochereuil, whom the Queen 
suspected. She was the more to be feared on that important 
night, because the royal fugitives would have to pass under her 
windows. This lady was ill ; the day before the intended 
flight, the King and Queen visited her, and expressed great 
kindness towards her. On leaving her the King said — - 

" Madame de Rochereuil, continue your aifection towards 
your unfortunate mistress ; she is very unhappy, and stands in 
need of the attachment of her faithful servants. — You com- 
plain of your appetite, I will send you a tourte from my own 
table.'"' 

Madame Rochereuil was not guilty ; but her opinions were of 
the new political school, which did not procure her the good- 
will of her royal mistress. She knew it, and never appeared 
before the Queen without trembling. The King's condescension 
and kindness, therefore, surprised, her more than it flattered 
her ; and when she received the pastry, a suspicion first arose 

X 2 



278 J.IVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

in her mind that it was poisoned. Having given some of the 
tourte to a young dog she had with her, the animal almost 
immediately fell fast asleep. ' 

Madame Rochereuil now suspected the royal flight was about 
to take place. At first she resolved to denounce the royal 
family, and actually rose for this purpose ; but she could not 
bring herself to commit so base an act. She passed the evening 
in great agitation. At length the night came, every one retired 
to bed, and the most profound silence pervaded the palace of the 
French King. At half-past ten the Queen went down from the 
King's apartments, and half an hour was spent in the necessary 
preparations. At last, at eleven o'clock, the proscribed family 
descended the Duke de Yillequier's staircase and quitted the 
royal abode. 

^. Madame Rochereuil, who was on the look-out, recognised 
Madame de Tourzel, Madame Elizabeth, and Madame Royale ; 
then the King, accompanied by a person of slender make, and 
lastly the Queen, holding by the arm of one of her body-guard. 
The royal fugitives succeeded in quitting the Tuileries without 
interruption; for ^ladame Rochereuil, overcome by her feel- 
ings, had not strength to alarm the inmates of the palace. At 
the entrance of the Carousel the royal party found a hired car- 
riage, and the Count de Ferten acted as coachman. This 
nobleman has been often mentioned as entertaining, at this 
period, the most fervent admiration for the Queen. He drove 
the royal family as far as Bondy, where two berlines with post- 
horses were waiting for them, and they continued during the 
night their adventurous journey. 

I shall here mention a fact relating to the Marquis de La- 
fayette. 

The Queen placed unbounded confidence in a captain of the 
national guard, named Rouleaux. The day before the depar- 
ture of the royal family for Yarennes, she confided to him. the 
w^hole of the plan, requesting him to observe the effect of their 
escape upon the public mind at Paris. Next morning, at nine 
o'clock. Captain Rouleaux called upon the T^Iarquis de Lafayette, 



MARIE ANTOINETl^E. 279 

whom lie found in conversation with M. de Vergennes, brother 
of the minister, and the Marquis de Gouvion, his aide-de-camp. 
The people were forming into groups in the streets, and depu- 
tations of the national guard came to the commandant, exclaim- 
ing : " We must go in pursuit of the King.'"* 
,y-^u (3}qq(J (3<q(J r^ exclaimed Captain Rouleaux, " I should like 
to know why we are to run after the King ? If he is inclined to 
travel, let him do so ; we can settle our affairs without him. For 
my own part. General, I think, with deference, that it would 
become the dignity of the patriots to take no notice whatever 
of the business.'" 

{Whilst listening to Captain Rouleaux, a singular expression 
of satisfaction played over M. de Lafayette's features. He 
pressed the captain's hand, and said in a whisper, that he was 
of his opinion^x 

Madame Rochereuil, or some other female of the royal esta- 
blishment, had given the Marquis de Gouvion, a piece of the 
gown worn by Marie Antoinette on the day of her flight. This 
had been placed under a marble paper-holder upon Lafayette's 
mantel-piece ; Rouleaux perceived it, and approaching softly, 
took it away with him. 

The particulars of the journey to Varennes have appeared in 
all the newspapers, and in a multitude of memoirs ; I shall con- 
fine myself, therefore, to two facts relative to the Queen. When 
the brutal conduct of the postmaster of Varennes had destroyed 
her last ray of hope, there still remained a mode of escape, which 
was by fording the river, as proposed by two officers of Hun- 
garian hussars stationed at Varennes. They assured the Queen, 
in German, that they were certain of being able to save her. 
The alarm-bell, was sounding everywhere ; the peasants, armed 
with scythes and pitchforks, were approaching on all sides. 

" Return not to Paris," they said, " or you are lost." 

" The King will not allow me to take my children with me," 
the Queen replied, " and I never will leave them." 

The officers reiterated their earnest request. Although their 
conversation with the Queen was in German, the King under- 



280 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

stood tlicm, and begged them to desist and withdraw, for he 
had quitted Paris with regret. 

The particulars of the King's return to Paris are well known. 
His departure was undoubtedly ill-judged ; but to be dragged 
back to the metropolis by violence, and not allowed to re-enter 
that city of his own accord, was still more so. From that 
day the doom of the King was fixed, and his residence in the 
palace at Paris had already become an imprisonment. The 
King, the Queen, and ^ladame Elizabeth, underwent an in- 
terrogatory before commissioners from the Assembly. The 
Queen's answers were full of propriety and dignity, and couched 
in the most measured terms with regai-d to the persons who 
had accompanied her. a Louis XYI., as a monarch, had no 
doubt committed many eiTors, but he was an honest man*) On 
his return to Paris, he received the support ofv^arnaA^^the 
most gifted man in the Assembly since the death of Mirabeau. 
Barnave served the royal cause, because he thereby thought 
that the King could give a constitution to the nation, and 
that a new union might then be effected. The faction, which 
it is useless to designate in these pages, but which was the 
real enemy of the existing power which it sought to destroy 
— the faction, of which Chandelos La Clos was the active 
agent, raged with fury at the very idea of tranquillity being- 
restored. The republicans were too sincere not to accept as 
a pledge of retmiiing peace, the constitution which held out 
such hopes. This furious faction demanded that the King 
should be deposed. The famous proclamation or petition was 
di-awn up and laid upon the altar of the country, in the Champ 
de ]\Iars. Sylvain Bailly, the mayor, and General Lafayette 
repaired in all haste to the Champ de Mars with the national 
guard. The red flag was unfiu'led, and they fired at the agita^ 
tors who had tlu'own^ stones and thereby commenced hostilities. 

On the following day, the King went to the Assembly. He 
was dressed in a violet-colour coat with a small embroidery in 
silver, and wore only the cross of the order of St. Louis. He 
occupied the president's ch. ir, ornamented with fleurs-de-lis, and 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 281 

uttered an aiFecting and paternal speech, which made a deep im- 
pression. His voice ahnost faltered, and its tone was melan- 
choly ; but when he pronounced the oath of fidelity to the con- 
stitution, he did it in a firm and audible voice, and with an ex- 
pression of the greatest sincerity. 
^,"' In the evening, the Tuileries and the whole of Paris were 
1^ illuminated* When it was found that the gardens of the palace 
I were open as usual, they were soon filled, and the Queen could 
see from her windows the crowds that came to testify their joy. 
She frequently went out to walk upon the terrace, carrying with 
her little perfumed boxes filled with bonbons, which she distri- 
buted to the children who appeared to belong to respectable 
parents. If a secret influence, entirely foreign to the nation, had 
not interfered to destroy this return of happiness, Marie Antoi- 
nette would have been beloved as she had been a few years before. 
At this period Monsieur, Comte de Provence, afterwards 
Louis XVI II., took the title of Regent of the kingdom of 
France, because the King was, he said, a prisoner in his palace. 
Louis XVI., notwithstanding his usual placidity of temper, fell 
into a violent passion on learning this. He wrote to the Baron 
de Breteuil, who was then at Vienna, desiring him to state dis- 
tinctly that he, the King of France, did not recognise such 
regency. The King concluded his letter with the following 
remarkable sentence — 

" And should it please the Almighty to dispose of me, the 
Queen, my very worthy and much-beloved partner, Avould be- 
come the rightful Regent." 
The Queen added — 

/"; " Monsieur le Baron de Breteuil, the King being per- 
. suaded that the regency of our brother would be attended with 
inconvenience, I add my recommendation to his orders. Our 
intention is not to oppose the wishes of Monsieur, but to pre- 
vent greater misfortunes ; and it appears that this measure would 
convulse the whole of France. Pray, sir, be ever assured of the 
lively gratitude I entertain towards you, which shall never be 
diminished; 

Marie Antoinette.'^ 



282 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

I will add, tliat the Queen used repeatedly to say : " All our 
misfortunes come from Provence.'''' 

To what can the fatal day of the 20th of June be attributed ? 
Faults were undoubtedly committed, for the King at that period 
had regained a hind of popularity which was bringing the people 
back to him. It has been asserted that the constitutional guard 
was the cause of the dreadful excesses which were committed. 
This I do not believe : the soldiers composing that guard had 
been chosen by the mayor of the district, and the officers had 
been taken from the republican army. It must, however, be ad- 
mitted, that the fury of the revolutionary faction knew no bounds, 
when it learned that the Queen had gained over this new guard 
to her cause, and that the young officers had sworn to die in her 
defence. 

It was at this period that Dumouriez, whom Marie Antoinette 
had never entirely trusted, came and cast himself at her feet, and 
kissing the hem of her gown, begged her to induce the King to 
come to the army. 

^ " We are more than twenty thousand warriors,"" said Du- 
mouriez, " who woukl surround him in the field of battle ; and 
we could supply the experience he stands in need of. Time 
flies apace, Madam, and the future assumes a menacing and 
temfic aspect.'''* 

*' Do not entertain any hope on that score," the Queen re- 
plied ; " the King has sworn to execute faithfully the constitu- 
tion, and he will scrupulously adhere to his word. For my own 
part, I do not possess influence enough to make him change his 
resolution, and have, therefore, no alternative but to submit to 
his will.'" 

A short time afterwards, the revolutionary faction, — I do not 
mean by that denomination the republican faction — at that time 
the republic had no faction, almost the whole of France was 
republican, but with moderation — (I give the revolutionari/ 
faction this appellation, because I do not wish to call it by an- 
other name) — the revolutionary faction wished to deprive the 
King and Queen of their last support. The constitutional guard 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 283 

was disbanded, and the Duke de Brissac impeached. This 
arbitrary measure was the forerunner of the King's death. 

It has often been asserted that Petion aimed at the presi- 
dency of the republic : I am disposed to believe it. He was an 
ambitious man, and a republican merely in words. He was 
totally unlike the Girondins, and even Danton, Camille Des- 
moulins, and many of those admirable geniuses who were an 
honour to the first Assembly. Petion had himself said to the 
King, during his return from Varennes, that France required a 
republic. He afterwards flattered the people, and neglected 
nothing which he thought would make him popular. ' Catiline 
flattered the Roman people as Robespierre flattered the Pari- 
sians'." Petion had just leagued himself with Servan, Claviere, 
and Rolland, the three ministers who had themselves recently 
disbanded the King's guard, and brought twenty thousand men 
under the walls of Paris, on pretence of repulsing foreign inva- 
sion — whilst it was well known that they were there to drive 
away the King, and place the Duke of Orleans upon the throne. 
Marie Antoinette, in despair, supplicated the King to oppose 
his veto to this measure, and dismiss the three ministers and 
Petion. The Assembly immediately declared the country 
in danger, and that the ministers carried with them the 
regrets of the nation. The fauxbourgs rose up, seduced by the 
gold, profusely lavished by a powerful personage ; they unfurled 
their banner, on which was inscribed : 

" Petion or Death ! Resistance to Oppression !" 
On the 20th of June, an immense multitude appeared at 
the gate of the Tuileries, requesting permission to plant a 
tree of liberty in the court-yard. The King gave orders to 
allow only forty persons to enter; but the gates were no 
sooner opened than the crowd rushed in towards the stables, and 
advancing to the great staircase seemed determined to besiege 
the royal apartments. The doors of the room belonging to the 
guards, being shut, the people endeavoured to beat them in 
with blocks of wood and bludgeons. At this moment four 
hundred noblemen, who wished to defend the King, made their 



284 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

appearance in tlie gallery of Diana ; but the monarch, instead of 
accepting their proffered assistance, thanked them for their zeal, 
and entreated them to withdraw. He was unwilling to irritate 
the multitude, and he really did not think that the people would 
do him any injmy. As they continued to express their desire 
to defend his person, the King became angry. 

" Gentlemen,'^ said he, in an irritated tone, " your zeal can 
only tend to your destruction. I request you will leave my 
palace, and, if necessary, I command you to do so." " My 
friends," added he, turning to the national guard then on duty, 
" I beg you will make these gentlemen withdraw." 

The noblemen retired on hearing this command. Several 
of them broke their swords. The venerable Marshal de Mouchy 
Noailles, being at that period nearly ninety years of age, alone 
refused to go. Having seated himself upon a bench, he de- 
clared his resolution of dying within the royal palace. 

Meanwhile, the doors, violently battered, were giving way, and 
at last one of the panels fell in. The King, on seeing this, 
(5rdered that they should be opened. The immense hall of 
the marshals, was immediately filled with the mob, maddened 
by the resistance they had experienced. The conduct of the 
national guard of Paris was admirable. Colonel Acloque had 
taken care to have the guard on duty that day at the palace 
better composed even than usual, and during the revolutionary 
tumult the conduct of this officer was above all pi-aise. The na- 
tional guard surrounded the King, and the better to protect 
him, placed him in one of the window recesses. Marshal de 
Mouchy, seated upon a stool close to the King, kept his eyes 
constantly upon him, and whenever a pike or a poniard ap- 
proached th.e royal person, the old soldier calmly and silently 
rose, and presented his breast to the threatening weapon, 
resolved to receive the blow aimed at his master's life. 

An immense number of maddened women and inebriated men 
rushed into the Queen's apartments. The household servants 
had endeavoured to oppose their entrance, and nearly a dozen 
valets were lying on the floor covered with wounds. The 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 285 

Queen, alarmed for the King''s safety and that of Madame 
Elizabeth, and wishing moreover to join them, proceeded to the 
upper apartments. On her way thither she saw naked swords^ 
and pikes in the hands of men in the last stage of drunkenness, 
and in the most furious state of excitement. 

This tumult of the 20th of June was not an act of the people 
of Paris ; the perpetrators of these riots were the same who, a 
few days later, attacked the national guard in the Champs 
Elysees, on the 10th of August and 2nd of September, j The 
Queen was not personally known to the rioters, which circum- 
stance saved her life on this eventful day>\ 

At length she found Madame Elizabeth, who had just 
answered to the name of Marie Antoinette, in order to save her 
sister-in-law. The Queen being recognized by the mob, which 
thirsted for her blood, was instantly surrounded by twenty 
ruffians with drawn swords. At this critical moment her life 
was saved by the most unexpected assistance. Two hundred 
national guards suddenly entered by the staircase of the Arcade. 
They surrounded the Queen and her children, and took them, 
with Madame Elizabeth, to the council chamber, where, placing 
them behind the immense table, they prepared to repulse any 
attack that might be made by the rioters. The conduct of the 
national guards greatly affected the Queen, and she gave vent to 
those tears which her extreme terror had hitherto prevented her 
from shedding. Extending her arms to her brave defenders 
she exclaimed : 

" I do not wish to live, but I recommend my children, and 
my poor sister to your protection. How happy should we be — 
how happy would the King be, if all the inhabitants of Paris 
loved and appreciated us as you do.'' 

At this moment, Santerre having entered the apartment, 
several national guards surrounded him and placed their swords 
upon his breast. The Queen uttered a piercing shriek, and 
rushed between the swords and his body. Santerre looked at 
her with great agitation. 

f^ Madam," said he, " the people are good, they did not come 



286 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

hither to harm you. If any have committed excesses they shall 
be punished, you may rely on it. I myself would wish to serve 
you — but you are badly surrounded, Madam ; — you will be led 
to commit faults ; your aristocracy will ruin you ; you are very 
badly advised." 

This speech was, doubtless, not very respectful, but it was 
sensible, and above all, just. For it is a lamentable fact that the 
Queen, at that time, was still under the influence of that unfor- 
tunate occult government which proved the ruin of the monarchy. 

It was only at seven o'clock in the evening that the palace 
was freed from the rabble and the royal family were able to 
assemble in the King's apartments, where everything had been 
broken and the rooms plundered. The apartments of the 
princesses were also completely ravaged. These excesses were 
but the forerunners of the 10th of August. 

As soon as the King perceived the Queen, he threw himself 
into her arms, and burst into tears. 

" Behold my deliverers,'' exclaimed Marie Antoinette, point- 
ing to the national guards who had saved her. 
^—-^^ My brave friends," said the King, deeply affected, " I cannot 
express my gratitude to you. I will request M. Acloque to 
give me all your names, in order that I may acquit myself 
towards you as I ought to do. To begin, I beg the Queen will 
allow one of you to embrace her." 

" Certainly ! certainly !" exclaimed the Queen, presenting 
her cheek in the most enchanting manner. 

Madame Elizabeth followed her sister's example, and M. 
Hue, raising the Dauphin in his arms, for that amiable child 
was then only six years old, the youthful prince said of his 
own accord : 

" Gentlemen of the national guard, I will beg M. Hue to 
teach me all your names, in order that I may never forget them, 
and that I may pray for you." 

Madame Premiere, since Duchess of Angouleme, who at this 
period was only thirteen years old, was so struck with the 



MAUIE ANTOINETTE. 287 

dreadful scene she had witnessed, that she could only shed tears 
in silence. 

" My children," said Louis XVI., after having changed his 
linen behind the curtains of his bed, " if I am cut off before 
my time, never forget what the inhabitants of Paris have done 
to-day for your good mother and myself. You are destined 
to survive us, and I bequeath to you my gratitude — let it never 
be forgotten." 

Next day Madame Elizabeth endeavoured to prevail upon the 
Queen to leave France, and proceed to Germany. 

" You are the object of their especial fury," said that Prin- 
cess ; "I remarked it even more yesterday than on the 6th of 
October. When once you are absent, they may possibly be 
satisfied." 

^"""-" I will never leave the King nor my children," replied the 
Queen with firmness. " My resolution is unalterable. If I am 
destined to die before my time, I will at least be found at the 
place where it is the duty of a wife and a mother to be." 

The interval between the SOth of June and the 10th of 
August was truly alarming for the royal family. The Directory 
of the department had suspended Petion on account of the 20th 
of June, and afterwards the cry of " Petion or Death" was voci- 
ferated day and night under the walls of the palace. The con- 
federated Marseillese, who had come to Paris, having been 
called thither by an occult though well known power, committed 
the most dreadful excesses. Three hundred national guards were 
killed in the Champs-Elysees, and murder stalked publicly 
through the streets. Such were the preludes to the 10th of 
August. \When a king is not a warrior, he has but two lines 
of conduct to follow : to abdicate, or else to have a good army 
at his command, and an experienced general; — otherwise he is 
irretrievably lost. uii^ii ijjv 

General Lafayette had quitted the command of the national 
guard, in which Santerre had succeeded him, to assume that of 
the army of the Ardennes. On learning the occurrence of the 



288 LIVES OF CFXEBRATKD WOMEN. 

20t]i of June, he immediately hastened to Paris, and presenting 
himself at the bar of the Assembly, asked, with energy and 
dignity, what the representatives of the nation had done with the 
lionom- of France ? He declared that the constitution had been 
scandalously violated, and demanded that the authors of this out- 
rage should be brought to condign punishment. The cote gauche^ 
on hearing this, loaded him with invectives, and he was forced 
to withdraw. In the course of the evening he asked to be 
allowed an interview with the Queen ; but Marie Antoinette, 
who still entertained an unjust, and, in her situation, an unfor-' 
tunate prejudice against him, hesitated to give an answer. The 
general, naturally hurt at this conduct, immediately quitted 
Paris where his life was not in safety. 

General Lafayette committed perhaps an error in his abrupt 
conduct at the Assembly; it may, however, be considered a 
consequence of the frankness of his character, though it certainly 
is not a proof of his judgment'. In the excitement of political 
commotions, it is imprudent to give vent to feelings of this de- 
scription unless backed by an imposing force. Such conduct 
injures and endangers a cause. 

On the Tth and 8th of August, the chiefs of the commune, 
Danton, Robespierre, Manuel, Brissot, Tallien, Camille Des- 
moulins, with their adjuncts, Panis, Billaud Yarennes, Chenier 
(Marie Joseph) Marat, Freron, Legendre, and Lestournel, after 
dining at the Chancellerie of Orleans, assembled in committee, 
and by their own authority dissolved the municipality, declaring 
it " incapable of saving the country in its present dangerous 
state." Then, in the presence of the Legislative Assembly, which 
made not the slightest effort to interrupt their proceedings, they 
convoked the forty-eight sections of Paris. Petion was rein- 
stated. The commune was all powerful, and the King remained 
silent during these occuiTcnces. 

On the evening of the 9th of August, it was known that the 
palace of the Tuileries was to be attacked on the following day 
at daybreak. The Queen called a council, consisting of M. 
d' Affray commandant of the Swiss guard, M. Bakmann second 



MAlliE ANTOINETTE. 2^9 

in command, M. Marguerie an officer of the constitutional 
guard, tlie Count de Menou, the Baron de Viomenil, and 
several other devoted adherents of the royal family. 

This time Louis XVI. preferred resistance to sanctioning the 
decrees which had been passed. It was, however, too late : the 
firmness which he now wished to show could now have no other 
effect than that of rendering the struggle sanguinary and dread- 
ful for all parties. 

At twelve o'clock at night the alarm-bell at the Hotel de 
Ville began to ring, and all the bells of the town soon answered 
this signal. The Queen went into the Dauphin's chamber; 
she kissed her son in his sleep, and proceeded to awaken 
the King. The whole family surrounded the ill-fated monarch, 
and every successive report brought with it new subjects of 
intense anxiety. 

At ten o'clock in the morning, Petion arrived at the 
Tuileries. 

" Sir," said Louis XVI. " you are mayor of Paris, and the 
alarm is sounded everywhere ! Do you wish a renewal of the 
scenes of the 20th of June ? Answer me — what means this 
tumult ?" 

" Sir," replied Petion, " the alarm is sounding against my will; 
but I will go to the Hotel de Ville, and order shall be restored." 

The fact is that Petion found himself surrounded by devoted 
friends of the King, who, on the slightest signal, would have 
stabbed him to the heart. But Louis XVI. was not a man to 
command such an action. 

" M. Petion," said the Queen, advancing towards him, ^' it 
is well known that the King is threatened with some imminent 
danger. You, yourself can have no doubt on, the subject. 
Your duty obliges you therefore not to leave him. Your con- 
duct alone can prove that these outrages are repugnant to your 
feelings. You must sign an order for the restoration of tran- 
quillity and obedience ; but you, M. Petion, will remain witk 
the King." 

Petion signed the order, which was carried to the Hotel de 



290 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Ville by M. de Mandat, who had just been called to the com- 
mune, under pretence that a negotiation was to be attempted with 
the court. On his arrival at the Hotel de Ville, the people de- 
manded Petion's order, but he refused to deliver it up. Upon 
this a hundred weapons were aimed at his breast ; he instantly 
fell covered with wounds. His head was placed upon a pike and 
shown to the people, and cries of " Long live the nation ! 
down with the veto !"'"' rent the air. 

At the same time the Assembly decreed that Petionwas illegally 
detained at the palace, and summoned him to return to them. 
The King did not oppose the execution of this decree, and 
Petion w^as set at liberty. 

At six o'clock in the morning, the Queen prevailed on the 
King to go into the gardens and review the troops stationed 
there. The greatest part of them received him with shouts of 
" Long live the King !" but these expressions of loyalty were 
not unaccompanied by some approbrious words ; and from that 
moment the unhappy monarch could foresee the fate that awaited 
him. 

On his return to his apartments, he found the council sitting, 
and the Queen presiding over it. No determination had hitherto 
been come to, and Marie Antoinette was strongly urging that 
some decisive step should be taken. At this moment, Rsederer, 
Procureur Syndic of the commune, entered the palace, and in 
the greatest agitation asked to speak to the King and Queen. 

" The popular excitement has reached a pitch of frenzy," he 
said ; " Several hundred men have gone to the Pont-Neuf, 
and taken possession of the guns. The royal family are 
lost if the King does not instantly join the Legislative Body." 

" Ah ! sir," exclaimed the Queen, " what advice do you 
give the King ! There are undoubtedly in the Assembly a great 
number of honest and faithful subjects, but there are also many^ 
who thirst after our blood, — and these are the most nu- 
merous. Sir, I conjure you," continued Marie Antoinette, 
casting herself at the King's feet, " not to follow this advice. 
Remember that you are the descendant of Louis XIV. and 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 291 

Henry IV. Do not disgrace these great names ; do not aban- 
don the sceptre they have bequeathed to yoii. Show yourself 
on horseback through all Paris, and the Parisians will restore 
you their esteem. I will myself follow you with my son in my 
arms.'' 

" No, no,'' replied Louis XVL, " there is no further hope 
in staying here. I will proceed to the Legislative Assembly — 
that is our safest asylum. Let me be taken thither instantly. 
Such is my will." 

/ " Then," exclaimed the Queen in despair, " before your de- 
^/parture, give orders to have me nailed to the walls of this 
f palace." 

Madame Elizabeth, the Princess de Tarente, and the Princess 
de Lamballe, supplicated the Queen to oppose no farther 
resistance to the King's will, for the monarch seemed greatly 
irritated. 

" You will have it so," replied Marie Antoinette, endeavour- 
ing to suppress her tears ; "I will obey the King ; but I will 
follow him — we are all doomed to die." 

The royal family then left the palace, to which they were 
never to return. The distance to the Legislative Assembly, was 
sufficiently great to make the journey a dangerous one, especially 
for the Queen, who was received everywhere with cries of hatred 
and with opprobrious epithets. The national guard, of its own 
accord, formed two lines on her passage, and thus protected her 
for the last time. 

Twenty-five deputies came to meet Louis XVL, thanking 
him for placing his confidence in the national representatives. 
Several of them seemed not aware that those who destroy every- 
thing, are not those who grant protection. The deputies 
cried out from time to time, " Respect to the constituted pow- 
ers ! respect to the national representatives." The weather was 
intensely hot; and those who surrounded and protected the 
royal family could with great difficulty preserve sufficient space 
for them to breathe. 

At this moment, a tall young man, with naked arms and 



292 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

disordered dress, approached the Queen, and lookmg at the 
Princess de Lamb^lle, whom he mistook for Marie Antoinette, 
exclaimed in a rough voice : 

" Where is the Queen? — show me the Queen! let me 
see her for the first time." And his eyes were fearfully fixed 
on Madame de Lamballe, whom the Queen gently pushed 
aside. 

" Do not mistake," said Marie Antoinette, to the young 
w^orkman, " I am the Queen ; what is it, my friend, that you 
require of me ?" 

The young man, on beholding for the first time that mild 
and beautiful countenance, on hearing the accents of that voice, 
so pure, and so harmonious, seemed overcome by some indescrib- 
■ able sensation. He looked at the Queen for a while in silence, 
then turning to his companions — 
\^ " My friends,"" said he, " this is not a wicked woman ; it is a 

pleasure to look at her. Madam," continued he, addressing the 
Queen, " tell the King to forego that villanous veto which vexes 
us, and all this tumult will cease." 

The Assembly vouchsafed to open its doors, after having 
made the King and his family wait upwards of twenty minutes. 

What occurred on that di-eadful day, w^hen so much innocent 
blood was shed, is well known, and the particulars would be out 
of place here. I wdll only say that the royal family remained 
three days in the cells of the Feuillans. The Princesses were 
deprived of all attendance, and had not even a change of linen. 
On the third day. Lady Sutherland, the wife of Lord Gower 
the British Ambassador, sent the Queen a supply of linen, ex- 
pressing the strongest grief at her unhappy situation. The 
Queen refused the linen. 

" I am really grieved to disoblige Lady Sutherland by my 
refusal," said Marie Antoinette, "but the assistance of England 
comes too late." 

The Queen had not forgotten that when the Princess de 
Lamballe went to England, Mr. Pitt refused to interfere, 
saying : 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 293 

" The Bourbons have brought their misfortunes upon them- 
/ selves." 

t^- On the 13th August, the royal family were conducted to the 
Temple. On their way thither they saw, on the Place Vendome, 
the statue of Louis XIV. thrown down. Louis XVL turned 
his head away ; Marie Antoinette looked steadfastly at the 
prostrate statue, as if to infuse new vigour into her soul. 

" Madam,'*' said Petion, who was in the carriage, " I can 
no longer answer for your life, if you do not assume an attitude 
more becoming your situation." 

The Queen looked at this man, coward enough to insult her 
in misfortune, but did not deign to answer him. 

The Temple was an ancient appanage of the grand priors of 
Malta, and belonged to the Duke of Angouleme. It was a 
noble structure, and consisted of the castle, and the donjon or 
tower. The royal family passed the first night in the Duke- of 
Vendome's room, called the " gilt chamber." On the following 
day they were placed in the tower. 
/"^The massacres of September soon followed. Madame de 
Lamballe, the intimate friend of the Queen, was murdered, her 
body horribly mutilated, and her head, placed upon a pike, 
was carried to the Temple. But the people, obliged to remain 
outside the walls, could only agitate this frightful trophy. For- 
tunately the Queen was informed of the intention of the multi- 
tude, and avoided being a witness to this act of cannibalism, 
which, with the other horrors of those disturbed times, have left 
a stain upon the national character of the French that time 
itself can never obliterate. \ 

The Queen, during her imprisonment in the Temple, gave 
numerous proofs of the firmest and noblest character ever dis- 
played by woman. She occupied, with Madame Royale and 
Madame Elizabeth, the upper story of the tower, the only in- 
habitable room in the place. It would be useless to relate the 
numerous acts of petty persecution to which she was exposed. 
Cruelty and folly could go no further, and the facts themselves 
would not now obtain belief, were they not attested by the per- 

y2 



294 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

petrators of tlicni. The frightful butchery of the 2nd and 3rd of 
Septemher was scarcely consummated, when another sacrifice was 
required. The bringing to trial of Louis XVI. was abeady 
talked of. At this period there was no gTound whatever for 
doing so. It was only after the King's confinement in the Tem- 
ple that he communicated with the foreign powers, respecting 
his escape ; and it was natural enough that he should do so. 
It was no crime to endeavour to escape from his oppressors. 
Besides, the Assembly had itself broken the solemn treaty of 
1791 : for, by the constitution, the King's person was sacred. 
But it was not the nation that pronounced judgment, any- 
more than it participated in a thousand acts committed in its 
name and imder its apparent sanction. Had Louis XVI. de- 
clined the competency of the Convention, and appealed to the 
people, he might have been saved. 

But he acknowledged the jurisdiction of this tribunal, and 
fi'om that moment his power was destroyed. He received the 
commissioners of the Convention, and spent foiu: hours in 
signing a hundred and fifty-eight papers, which had been found, 
according to their assertion, in the famous ii'on. closet. By this 
act he authenticated the documents. He made the commis- 
sioners sup with him that evening, and by such conduct virtually 
recognized the extent of their powers and the legality of their 
acts. He could now no longer assert that the judgment was ille- 
gal, though it might be, and certainly was. unjust. Louis XYI. 
was thus brought to judoment by an incompetent tribunal ; the 
nation alone had power to judge him — the nation alone had a 
right to pronounce sentence upon him, in the same manner that 
it afterwards declared in favour of a new government, when nearly 
four millions of votes demanded the establishment of the empire. 

Durimr the proceedings against the King, he was subjected 
to a privation from which the meanest criminal is always 
exempt — he was separated from his family. It was only" 
when about to be led to the place of execution that he obtained 
leave to bid them a last farewell. The royal family were as- 
sembled in one of the rooms of the donjon. The Dauphin ut- 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 295 

terecl tlic most piercing cries. The Queen, though bathed in 
tears, had sufficient fortitude to congratulate the King upon his 
prospect of being at length released " from his earthly prison to 
receive in heaven the glorious crown of martyrdom." But the 
feelings of the wife soon got the better of the courage of the 
sovereign : nature resumed her sway, and Marie Antoinette, 
when the King ashed her forgiveness for any injury which his 
weakness and want of confidence in her advice might have caused, 
fell into a violent paroxysm of grief. She at last fainted, after an 
attack of the most dreadful convulsions. On recovering her 
senses, her grief was increased by the sight of her children. She 
fell dangerously ill, and owed her life only to her youth and the 
unremitting care of the most celebrated physicians of the day. 
Heaven seemed to spare her in order to give the world a 
striking example of misfortune. 

Until the death of Louis XYI. the royal family had been 
allowed the attendance of their valet de chambre, Clery; 
but, an hour after the execution, this faithful servant was taken 
from them, and the Princesses obliged to wait upon themselves. 
A labouring man, named Tison, became their only attendant. 

A few months after the King's death, Marie Antoinette had 
an opportunity of escaping from the Temple. A municipal 
officer, named Toulau, had procured clothes similar to his own, 
by means of which the Queen and Madame Elizabeth were to 
leave the prison. But, at the moment of execution, this project, 
which had been perfectly well concerted, was abandoned by the 
Queen, because she would not desert her children. On the fol- 
lowing day she wrote as follows to Monsieur Jaijayes, in whom 
she placed the most unlimited confidence : 

^.. " We have had a pleasant dream, that is all. However, I have 
gained by it, inasmuch as I have seen a new proof of your de- 
votedness to our cause. You will readily conceive that the 
interest of my son is my only guide ; and happy as I should 
have felt at leaving this place, I cannot consent to be se- 
parated from him. Believe me, I feel the weight of your reasons 



296 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

for my own interest, and tliat such an opportunity may not 
offer again ; but I could enjoy nothing if my children remained 
behind, and this idea leaves me without the least regret. 

" M. A." 

On the 3rd of July 1793, a decree of the Convention was no- 
tified to Marie Antoinette, with a harshness which nothing could 
justify. It directed that the Dauphin should be taken from his 
mother, and imprisoned in a securer part of the tower. This 
history will be read by mothers, who will appreciate the Queen's 
feelings at such cruelty more forcibly than I can describe it. 
Her mind was excited to madness when she learned that her be- 
loved child, whose early youth had been spent amid the most 
dreadful sufferings — whose frail existence required that un- 
remitting care which a mother alone could bestow, was confined 
in a lonesome and damp apartment, .jmder the care of a coarse 
and cruel man named Simon, who heaped upon the unfortunate 
child every indignity, every torture, which the most refined 
barbarity could invent. In her agony, Marie Antoinette de- 
scended to the most humble supplications in the hope of soften- 
ing the rigour of the Convention. 

" Let me only see my child," she said to the municipal 
officers who had the guard of the tower ; "let me see him, 
even before witnesses, without speaking to him, without even 
kissing him.'" 

The Convention remained inflexible. Nevertheless, on the 
1 5th of July, two commissioners from the Committee of Public 
Safety came to the Temple to inform the Queen that she 
should see her son — that he should even be restored to her, 
if she would sign and send to the allied powers a proclama- 
tion, which should be posted up in Paris, intimating to the 
whole of Europe, that " she did not approve of their arming, 
and begged her defenders to withdraw their troops ; a demand 
which she addressed to them as the widow of Louis XVI., 
and the guardian of Louis Charles, her only son." The 
Queen replied, that while she was a prisoner she could not raise 
her voice to command; that her son's majority would annul every- 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 297 

tiling she might say, as she had no right to dictate in his 
name. 

The Queen was perfectly aware that such a step could have 
produced no other effect than to debase her in the eyes of 
Europe. On the 31st of July, Robespierre received a letter 
direct from Vienna, in which Marie Antoinette was accused of 
connivance with the courts of Germany. This letter was read 
before the two committees united, and the Convention issued 
forthwith a decree impeaching the widow of Louis XV I. 

At one o'clock in the morning of the 2nd August 1792, the 
Queen.was awoken, in order to be removed to the Conciergerie. 
She was allowed only a few minutes to bid adieu to her daughter 
and sister-in-law ; but was not permitted to see her son ! 

When she came to the bottom of the staircase of the tower, 
she was told to stoop, the gateway being low. Being absorbed 
in grief, she paid no attention to the warning, and struck her 
head violently against the beam of the door. 

" You are hurt, Madam," said one of the commissioners. 
In my present condition, what can hurt me in this world .?" 
the Queen replied. 
"y-- The clock struck two as they crossed the court-yard of the 
' Temple. The Queen was placed in a hackney-coach with an 
officer of gendarmerie and three municipal officers. Fifty gen- 
darmes, with drawn swords, escorted the carriage. On her arrival 
at the Conciergerie, she was received by the competent authorities, 
by Madame Richard the wife of the keeper of the prison, and by 
a young girl named Rosalie Lamorliere, who was there to wait 
upon her. The Queen was instantly conveyed to the dungeon 
she was destined to occupy, in which General Custine had just 
before been confined. It served at the same time as the council- 
chamber, and was situated at the extremity of a long dark pas- 
sage, lighted day and night by two lamps. This apartment, 
received scarcely any light ; it was seven feet high and fourteen 
feet wide. Even this gloomy place was not entirely allotted to 
the Queen's use. One part w^as reserved for two gendarmes, 
who were charged never to lose sight of her person. In the 



298 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

course of the day this cell was fitted up for Marie Antoi- 
nette's accommodation. . A common bedstead, two mattresses, 
a bolster, a blanket, a sinall foot-stool, a table, and two pri- 
son chairs, composed the furniture allotted to the Queen of 
France. 

On entering the prison, the Queen cast a look of horror at 
the bare walls. Having recovered her self-possession, she hung 
her watcli upon a nail in the wall, and proceeded to undress 
herself to retire to bed. Rosalie approached to offer her 
assistance. 

" Thank you, my good girl,'' said Marie Antoinette, with 
mildness ; " since I have had nobody to attend me, I have 
learned to wait upon myself." 

Next day, an old woman named Lariviere, eighty years of 
age, was sent to the Queen as her attendant. She was ordered 
to purchase some coarse stuff to mend the royal captive's dress. 
Under any other circumstances these details might appear 
trivial, but in this case their simplicity gives additional interest 
to the dreadful situation of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette. 

On the 8th September, at eleven in the morning, Michonis, 
a municipal officer who wished to save her, entered the prison 
with a species of master-mason, whom the Queen immediately 
recognized as the Marquis de Rougeville, a nobleman of Rheims. 
He had been very active during the 10th of August, and Marie 
Antoinette knew him to be one of her most faithful adherents. 
She was thrown off her guard, and her agitation was remarked by 
the gendarmes, and a woman named Orel, who was always near 
her to watcli her motions. Michonis pretended to give direc- 
tions to the mason, and ordered him to examine the wall on the 
side of the court-yard. The mason approached Marie Antoinette, 
and let fall at her feet a red pink. She waited with patience 
for half an hour, before she picked up the flower which probably 
contained her fate. At length, she ventured to seize it, and in 
it found a slip of paper containing these words : 
. 4t ^g gi^^ii come through the subterraneous passages, and 
shall all wear pinks like this." 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 299 

The Queen immediately swallowed the paper ; but it was too 
late : she had been watched, and the rapid glance which had fol- 
lowed all her motions led to a suspicion of the plot. 

The same night, September 8th, at eleven o'clock, the 
conventionalist Amar, his colleague Sevestre, and Fouquier 
Tinville, the public accuser, entered the Queen's prison to 
examine her concerning the affair of the pink. The Queen said 
but little, and in the few words she uttered, she proved at once her 
generosity and her prudence. The three commissioners, enraged 
at not being able to obtain any information from their victim, 
made a general search, and at last found a paper pricked with a 
pin. This paper was an answer to that which the pink con- 
tained, but it was not till four months after that they were able 
to decipher its contents. 

The Committees of Public Safety and General Safety received 
the report of the commissioners. They deliberated as if it had 
been a conspiracy tending to overthrow them. They could not 
discover the meaning of the mysterious flower — they in vain 
sought for an explanation of the paper pricked with a pin. In 
~ their impotent rage, they ordered the arrest of Richard, his 
wife, and Michonis. Richard was superseded in his office of 
keeper of the prison by Lebeau, keeper of the Force. 

The Queen had preserved her watch during her imprison- 
ment in the Temple. It was taken from her on the seventh 
day after her arrival at the Conciergerie. " This w^atch,*'"' said 
the Queen, to the commissioners who came to take it away, 
f''w3iS not purchased with French money : my mother gave it 
me the day I quitted her." 

" Nonsense !" exclaimed Heron, one of the most wicked 
= men of that sanguinary period ; "a gold watch is quite useless 
in a prison. The republic will return it to you when your 
business is settled." 

The conventionalist Amar, with inconceivable brutality, 
tore from the Queen's fingers two gold rings and a diamond 
one. Her wedding-ring was one of them. No doubt they 
feared bribery, and indeed these rings were considered suffi- 



300 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

cient to coiTupt tlie keeper and all tlie turnkeys of the prison. 
Nothing is more ferocious than folly united to cruelty. The 
situation of JSIarie Antoinette now became dreadful, and she 
began to forego even hope itself. Hitherto, she had not been 
able to persuade herself that the foreign powers would desert her 
cause. The gTcater number of Em*opean thi'ones were occu- 
pied by branches of the Bourbon family. Spain, Naples, 
Portugal, Sardinia, the Duchy of Parma, Austria, — all these 
powers were allied by blood, and even closely related to a 
princess whose title of Queen of France could not but render 
her doubly sacred in their eyes. The King of Sweden was a 
chivalrous hero, who had promised her his support, — in time of 
peace it is true ; but this monarch appeared sincere and devoted. 
Everything seemed to concur to save Marie Antoinette ; but 
Great Britain stifled every spnpathy in her favour. This power, 
still suffering from the American war, was deaf to pity. The 
houses of Austria and of Spain ought to have saved the Queen. 
She relied upon their interference, and had a right to do so ; but 
the cabinet of Madrid, governed by a favourite who had allowed 
his master to dishonour himself by deserting Louis XVI., could 
not be expected to come forward to save the widow and children 
of that ill-fated monarch. (With regard to Aiistria, its motives 
must have been powerful indeed ; and I have no right to judge 
them. They are undoubtedly the same which in 1814 caused 
the father to desert his daughter and grandson. 

The Queen, therefore, was justified in hoping that she might 
still be saved, either by the affection of her relatives, or by the 
l^w of honour, which rendered the sovereigns of Europe her natural 
protectors. But she was destined to be bereft of every hope, 
and on the 12th October 1793, the judgment of her late subjects 
was notified to her. 

On the 12th October, two judges of the revolutionary tribunal 
entered her prison in a hurried manner, allowed her only a few 
minutes to put on a gown, and then began to examine her 
judicially. The nature of their questions made her easily com- 
prehend that her fate was decided upon ; and when these blood- 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 301 

thirsty men left her prison, she fell upon her knees to implore 
the protection of her Maker, — the only hope now left to her who 
had been the sovereign of one of the greatest empires upon 
earth, and who was the descendant of a hundred kings. 

Since the affair of the pink, the two gendarmes had been 
withdrawn from the Queen's prison, and in their place a captain 
named De Beme was stationed there. This man, of German 
origin, was entirely devoted to the Queen, and had frequently 
found means of softening the severity exercised towards her. 
During the night, the respect he felt for her misfortune made 
him keep at the other end of the room. Fancying, the night 
after this interrogatory, that he heard groans, he called in a low 
voice to the Queen ; receiving no answer, and hearing the same 
moanings, he ventured to approach her bed, and found her in 
dreadful convulsions. The only words he could obtain from her 
were — "Let me die ! let me die!" He succeeded, however, 
in restoring her to a consciousness of her situation, and a copious 
flood of tears at length relieved her agonised feelings. At day- 
break she rose and walked about her prison until Lebeau entered. 

About twelve o'clock a greffier, a judge, and two huissiers 
entered, and delivered to her a copy of her act of accusation. 
She listened to the reading of it in the most profound silence. 

" Have you a counsel ?" asked the judge. 

" I know of none," replied the Queen. 

The judge named M. Tron^on du Coudray, and M. Chauveau 
Lagarde. 

" I do not know them," said the Queen ; " but I accept 
their assistance." 

After the judge's departure, she asked M. de Beme what 
kind of reputation the two advocates just mentioned enjoyed. 
M. de Beme's answer relative to one of them was particularly 
consoling to the Queen, and indeed the name of M. Chauveau. 
Lagarde is one in which the unfortunate may always safely 
confide. 

On the 14th of October, Marie Antoinette spent an hour 
in prayer, before her morning meal, which was brought to 



,302 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

her by Lebeau and Rosalie. She asked M. de Berne if she 
could have a confessor. This truly honest man assured the 
Queen that he was convinced it was impossible, because there 
were no priests remaining in Paris but those who had taken the 
oath. 

^^^'' If that is the case," said the Queen, lifting her eyes 
towards Heaven, " I must no longer think of it. God alone 
shall receive my confession. On the eve of appearing before 
His tribunal, I may hope for mercy from Him." 

This fact, attested by an estimable man, sufficiently proves 
the falsehood of the words attributed to the cure of St. Germain 
L'Auxerrois, and which it is impossible he could have uttered. 
It was reported, that he was with the Queen during the night of 
the 1 4th of October, and had found means to enter the prison 
in company with Mademoiselle Fouche. To add to the romance 
of the pretended midnight scene, it was asserted that one of the 
gendarmes received the Sacrament with the Queen. 

M. Chauveau Lagarde, one of the Queen's defenders, and one 
of the most worthy men I know, published, in 1816, a pamphlet, 
in which he mentions all the particulars of his communications 
with his royal client. 

He was, he says, at his country-house, when, on the 14th 
of October 1793, he was informed of his having been appoint- 
ed, in conjunction with M. Tron^on Ducoudray, counsel for 
the Queen. The trial was to begin the next day, at eight 
o'clock in the morning. The time was extremely short. He 
immediately hastened to the Conciergerie in order to confer with 
Marie Antoinette. Until that moment he had never seen her ex- 
cept at a distance, and had never spoken to hep. M. Chauveau 
Lagarde relates in the most affecting manner the deep emotion 
he experienced on seeing the unhappy consort of his late sove- 
reign, in want of almost common necessaries, immured in an 
unwholesome dungeon, deprived of air and almost of light. 

He read to Marie Antoinette her act of accusation. 

" When I perused," says he, " this tissue of infamous false- 
hoods, I was struck dumb. It was the work of demons. The 
Queen seemed perfectly unmoved." 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 303 

M. Lagarde went to the greffe to read the proceedings, or at 
least what then went by that name. Great was his surprise to 
find that it would require whole weeks to go through the papers, 
and only twenty-four hours were allowed. He returned to the 
Queen and informed her that it would be necessary to demand 
a delay in order to examine the different documents. 

" To whom must the demand be made," inquired the un- 
happy Marie Antoinette, looking steadfastly at M. Chauveau 
Lagarde. He did not venture to reply. The Queen repeated 
the question. He then said in a low voice, " The Con- 
vention."' 

" Never !"" exclaimed the Queen ; " no, never !"' 

" You are not alone. Madam," observed M. Chauveau La- 
garde, " in the act of accusation ; and, besides, allow me to add, 
that I have to defend the Queen of France, the mother of 
Louis XVII. and the widow of Louis XVI." 

The sacred names of mother, wife, and sister always find 
their way to a woman's heart : Marie Antoinette, without 
uttering a word, took her pen, and wrote to the Assembly 
demanding the delay required by her counsel. The demand 
was given to Fouquier Tinville at the same moment. No 
other answer was returned than that the trial would take place 
on the following day, October 15tli, as previously announced, 
at eight o'clock in the morning. 

Next morning, Marie Antoinette, dressed in black, and 
strikingly dignified in her appearance, stood before her judges. 
Hermann presided at the tribunal ; Duplay, a carpenter, a 
friend of Robespierre, was foreman of the jury. Hermann 
affected mildness in his speech and manners. In opening 
the proceedings, he said, in a voice he wished to render im- 
pressive : 

^^, Citizens, you are here assembled to assist in trying a 
woman whom you have seen upon a throne, and who now ap- 
pears at the bar as a criminal. The tribunal, in its justice, 
recommends you to preserve order and tranquillity : the law 
forbids every sign of approbation or disapprobation." Then, 
turning to the Queen — 



304 LIVES OF CELEBRATED W^MEN. 

" Accused,'*'' said he^ " state your name, your profession, 
and your age."" 

Marie Antoinette, on hearing herself called upon in this 
manner, could scarcely contain her indignation. She cast her 
eyes round the tribunal with an expression of mingled anger and 
contempt ; but recollecting the precious pledges still remaining 
in the Temple, she checked her feelings. 

" My name,'*'' she replied, " is Marie Antoinette Josephe 
Jeanne de Lorraine, widow of Louis XVL ; my age is thirty- 
seven years.'" 

After the words " de Lorraine," she was ' going to add, 
" Archduchess of Austria ;" but Hermann stopped her, saying, 
" No, no, not Archduchess ; the republic does not recognize 
any such foolish titles.'' 

Simon the cobbler, who was preceptor to the unfortunate 
heir of Louis XVL, appeared as a witness. The Queen 
trembled at the sight of this man ; she knew his dreadful 
cruelty towards her beloved child, and her maternal feelings 
made her shrink from the gaze of her son's tyi-ant. 

His e\ddence began with a jeer- He mixed up with the 
Queen's case the names ofPetion, Toulau, and Lafayette ; and, 
in order to render his declaration more probable, he asserted that 
he had heard everything from the young prisoner, his pupil. 

Then followed the principal heads of accusation, containing 
the most monstrous charges. Marie Antoinette was accused of 
the ruin of the kingdom. 

" You have signed receipts for immense sums," said Le 
Cointre, of Versailles ; " they were found at Septeuil's house." 

" It is false !" exclaimed the Queen ; " I never signed any. 
Let them be produced." 

'' They have been mislaid," said Fouquier Tinville ; '* but it 
is of no consequence, we are going to hear respectable witnesses 
who have seen them." 

Three men declared that they had seen receipts signed by 
the Queen, and the tribunal declared that the Queen had signed 
receipts for several millions of francs. Hermann, perceiving 



^lARIE ANTOINETTE. 305 

tliat the public felt interested in-tlie illustrious accused, imme- 
diately, with demoniac hypocrisy, called to his aid the usual 
cant of the period. - 

" You have forwarded immense sums to your flimily in 
Germany ; you have despoiled France to enrich foreign nations." 

" The imperial house of Austria," replied Marie Antoinette, 
" requires no foreign aid ; its finances are in a more flourishing 
state, not only than yours, but than those of any power in 
Europe." 

" And your victim, Madame de Lamothe .?" resumed Her- 
mann — " w^hat reason can you give for having wished to ruin 
that innocent young woman ?" 

At this infamous question, the Queen fixed her eyes upon 
Hermann with an expression of such dignity that he looked 
abashed, and turned away his head. In this struggle of inno- 
cence against power and crime, the Queen seemed triumphant; 
The spectators were numerous, and, even among the most 
ardent republicans, many were present whose hearts were touched, 
and whose countenances betrayed their feelings. Hebert, sub- 
stitute of the Procurator of the Commune, saw the danger, and, 
to obviate it, did not hesitate to make use of the most infernal 
and monstrous means. 

'' You have corrupted you own son," said this man ; *' you 
and your sister Elizabeth have initiated him into vice and de- 
baucher)* — ^he has himself signed a declaration to this efFect."*' 

At this moment the Queen was standing, and in the most im- 
posing attitude. On hearing this unexpected and horrible 
charge, she uttered a piercing shriek, and, without looking at 
the miscreant who seemed to forget he had ever a mother, 
exclaimed, addressing herself to the public who filled the room, 
and with an accent of virtuous indignation — 

"I appeal to every mother here present whether such a crime 
be possible !" 

After this eifort her feelings overcame her. Worn out by 
the scene, and having taken no food since the preceding day, 
she felt completely overcome. In vain she implored a glass of 



306 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

water — no one even stirred to confer the trifling boon. At 
List, Captain de Berne, unable to view such sufferings, brought 
her the wished-for beverage, and presented it to her with the 
same respect as if she was still at Versailles. He paid the price 
of his humanity with the loss of his liberty, and nearly of his life.) 

At four o'clock, the tribunal suspended its sitting for an 
hour, and Rosalie received orders to bring some soup for the 
Queen. This young girl herself related the circumstance to 
M. d'Aussonne. 

" At about two o'clock," she said, " I heard some persons 
talking about the sitting ; they said, ' Marie Antoinette will 
obtain her freedom — she has answered very well — they will only 
banish her.** 

" At four o'clock, the keeper said to me, ' The sitting is 
suspended for an hour ; the accused will not come down : they 
have asked for some soup ; go up quickly.' I immediately 
took some good soup, which I had been keeping ready, and 
went up to the Queen. As I was entering the room, one of 
the commissioners of police, by name Labuziere, an ugly little 
man, took the soup out of my hands, and giving it to his mis- 
tress, a young female gaudily dressed, said to me — ' This young 
woman wishes to see the widow Capet, and this will be a 
good opportunity for her.' The woman went away immediately 
with the soup. In A^ain I begged and prayed : Labuziere 
was all-powerful — I was obliged to obey. But what would 
the Queen think on receiving her soup from the hands of a 
stranger. 

" At four o'clock in the morning, October 16th, -we were told 
that the Queen of France was condemned to death. I felt as 
if I had been stabbed with a sword ; I withdrew to my own 
room, and gave vent to my tears. 

" At seven in the morning, the keeper, Lebeau, desired me 
to go to the Queen, and ask her if she wanted anything. On 
entering the prison, where two lights were burning, I perceived 
a young officer of gendarmerie seated in the left corner ; and, 



MARIE ANTOINETrE. 307 

on approaching Madam, I saw her, dressed in bhick, lying upon 
her bed ; her face was turned towards the window, and her head 
leaning on her hand. 

" ' Madam,** I said trembling, ' you took nothing yesterday 
evening, and have taken almost nothing to-day — Avhat would 
you wish to have this morning ?' 

The Queen wept. ' My good girl,^ said she, ' I want 
nothing more in this world ; everything is at an end for me !"* 

*' I took the liberty of adding, ^ Madam, I have got a 
bouillon and some vermicelli soup; you must require some- 
thing — allow me to bring you something." 

" The Queen continued to weep. ' Rosalie," she said, ' go 
and fetch me a bouillon."' I went and brought it immediately. 
The Queen rose in bed, but took only two or three spoonfuls. 
I declare to God that she had no other nourishment. 

" When it was daylight, that is to say, at eight o^clock, I 
went down to the Queen to help her to dress, as she had desired 
me to do. Her Majesty rose, and went into the small space 
I usually left between her bed and the wall, in order to change 
her linen for the last time. The officer of gendarmerie, who 
was a very young man, approached with the most revolting in- 
solence. The Queen merely said to him — 

'' ' In the name of decency, sir, allow me to dress myself 
without a witness !"* 

" ' I cannot consent to it," replied the officer, with brutality ; 
' my orders are, not to lose sight of you." And he remained 
close to the Queen whilst she dressed herself for the last time. 

" She put on a white undress, and covered her neck with a 
large muslin handkerchief, which crossed up to her chin. 

" The agitation I experienced from the brutality of the 
gendarme, prevented me from remarking whether or not the 
Queen had the picture of the Dauphin. The day before she 
had raised her hair a little, and put two black bands to her 
cap in token of widowhood ; but to go to the place of exe- 
cution she wore a simple cap of lawn without any mark of 



308 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

'' I quitted her without daring even to take leave of her, for 
fear of causing her some unpleasant feeling. I went into my 
room to weep, and to pray for her/'' 

Immediately after Rosalie's departure, the Queen knelt to 
pray. Jt was then nine o'clock, and she remained praying until 
thirty-five minutes past ten. The reporter then came and in- 
terrupted her devotions, in order to read her sentence once 
more. 

At eleven o'clock, the executioner, Henry Samson, tied her 
hands with a violence which even his duty did not prescribe, 
and cut off her hair. At ten minutes past eleven, Marie An- 
toinette was seated in the cart which was to convey her to the 
place of execution. The court was filled with an immense 
crowd, and as soon as the cart began to move, cries of " Long 
live the Republic ! Down with Kings !" were vociferated by the 
assembled multitude?^ 

The Queen, with her hands tied behind her back, trembled 
with cold — it was the chill of approaching death ! She cast 
a look of pity upon the surrounding populace, but her gaze was 
one of mute despair, which plainly indicated that all hope had 
fled, and the consciousness that death was at hand. 

The accumulated outrages with which the ferocious rabble 
thought to embitter her dying moments were unheeded by 
the royal sufferer; and when, at the windows of some 
persons well known to her, she saw the tricolour flag displayed, 
as if her enemies were anxious to pour a last drop into the cup 
of gall which she was destined to drain to the dregs, she cast 
upon her inveterate persecutors a look of silent contempt. 

In the Rue St. Honore, almost opposite to the Oratoire, a 
young child, in its mother's arms, waved its little hand to the 
Queen. The person who told me of this fact, assured me that 
the Queen's eyes brightened up with transient emotion. This 
infant, no doubt, recalled to her mind the son of her love, which 
a second crime was about to render an orphan. 

When the procession arrived in front of the church of St. Roch, 
the commandant of the cavalry ordered a halt, in order that 



MARIE ANTOINETTE, 309 

tlie populace, upon tlie steps of the cliurch, miglit view tlie 
royal victim at tlieir leisure, and heap the vilest insults upon 
the unhappy Marie Antoinette. During more than a quarter of 
an hour, the Queen was condemned to hear the vociferations of 
the mob, who assailed her with the epithets — '' Messalina !"''' 
" Medicis !'' and " Fredegonde !""* During this last trial of her 
fortitude, Marie Antoinette, with half closed eyes, prayed for 
her unrelenting persecutors. 

At length, after a march of an hour and a half, the procession 
arrived in the Rue Royale, in which were a triple line of 
soldiers and some cannon, as on the day of the King's execu- 
tion. As the Queen reached the guillotine she shuddered 
— she now felt that she was about to take a last farewell 
of all she held dear on earth. When she perceived the awful 
preparations for death, her lips became livid, and seemed to 
■quiver for a moment ; but after a short prayer, she ascended the 
steps of the scaffold with precipitation, as if she had collected 
her remaining strength to accomplish this last act. She then 
knelt and exclaimed : 

^. " Oh ! my God ! forgive my murderers ! My dear children ! 

y adieu, for ever — I go to join your father.'" 

When the sacrifice was consummated, the executioner struck 
two blows upon the severed head of the unfortunate Queen. It 
appears that the impunity with which men could then indulge in 
feelings the most revolting to human nature, made them thirst 
for new pleasures in blood and outrage. > 

^ *^ *^ *^ /J* 'P' 

* * % * •* * 

..,, Marie Antoinette, Archduchess of Austria, and Queen of 
/ ^France, died on the 16th October 1793, at a quarter past 
one in the afternoon. She was then within a few days of her 
thirty-eighth year, having spent twenty-four years in France, 
which had become dear to her since her son was born to 
reign over it ; and she herself would have remained Queen, 
but for the madness of men w^ho, having too suddenly burst the 
bonds which for centuries had kept them enslaved, had let 

z 2 



310 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

loose upon tlie whole country the most uncontrollable and 
sanguinary passions. 

.. Marie Antoinette possessed much of her mother's character. 
She was resolute and quick in decision. Her countenance 
portrayed the characteristics of her mind. A person who had 
frequent opportunities of judging her, told me that it was easy 
to read her thoughts upon her bold and beautifully formed 
forehead. Her appearance was majestic, and her complexion 
exquisitely dazzling. Her look and her smile, whether in 
displeasure or in approbation, left an impression seldom 
forgotten. Neither her eyes nor her teeth were handsome. 
The real charm of her countenance consisted in a soul-breath- 
ing intelligence spread over all her features. There never 
was a more perfect resemblance than between this young 
Dauphiness, so lovely and so graceful, and the Duchess of 
Burgundy. Like the Princess of Savoy, she was gay, lively, 
and apparently thoughtless ; but in her youthful heart was 
hidden high resolution, and this it was that caused her mis- 
fortunes. Marie Antoinette was remarkably well informed. 
Her mother, Maria Theresa, had made the study of history 
the principal object of her education. She often expressed 
herself with great correctness of judgment upon grave and 
important questions ; and frequently compared the situation 
in which she found herself with Louis XVI. to some analogous 
fact in history, endeavouring to draw an inference from the 
comparison. This was a fatal error. In order to obviate a 
difficult situation, we must only consult existing circumstances, 
and reason upon existing facts. 

It has been said that Marie Antoinette was ambitious. This 
maybe true; — but it could only have been after the misfor- 
tunes of 1789 and 1791. She then lost her usual cheerfulness 
of temper. She no longer thought of her lively evening parties: 
all her ideas were absorbed in political discussions. Her fears 
were excited by constant riots and insurrections ; and being 
terrified by the massacres of Versailles and the Tuileries, she had, 
from the time they took place, no other aim than that of restoring 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 311 

peace to her afflicted family. She felt most bitterly the evils 
which the irresolute conduct of Louis XVI. had drawn upon 
France. Decorated with the title of sovereign but without any 
.power, Marie Antoinette could do no good, and was accused 
of all the evil committed. Her very goodness was detrimental 
to her; because the amiable familiarity of the woman of the 
world was opposed to the dignity of the sovereign, which she did 
not always preserve. ( In England, Marie Antoinette would have 
been an Elizabeth, or a Marguerite of Anjou : but in France 
her great talents were not available — for they met with constant 
opposition, and in the end were the cause of her ruin. 

iHer mutilated body was deposited in the churchyard of the 
Magdalen, and consumed in quick-lime. Was this unfortunate 
Queen such an object of terror to her persecutors, that her very 
lifeless remains must be doomed to perish ? — or was it feared, 
that the fate of this royal woman might excite so deep a 
sympathy in the hearts of Frenchmen, that her enemies thought 
it necessary to obliterate, if possible, every trace of her exist- 
ence ? The French nation^ so proud of its boasted goodness 
and urbanity, has, by this cruel act, cast upon its fair fame an 
eternal stigma, which, in the pages of its history, is written in 
indelible characters of blood. 



X«ilJ> 



312 



MARY OF MEDICIS, 

QUEEN OF FRANCE AND NAVARRE. 

The court of Fontainebleau was filled with huntsmen pre- 
paring their horses and hounds for the royal hunt. The sound 
of the horn vibrated in lengthened echoes through the forest. 
It was during the summer of 1599. The courtly nobles, impa- 
tient to commence the chase, but forced to appear actuated by 
no other will than that of their royal master, cast every now and 
then an inquiring glance towards the door of the Oalerie aux 
Cerfs, yihexe the King was in conference with Sully. On a 
sudden, a nois'e was heard proceeding from the gallery, as of 
persons in deep altercation, and the ready ears of the courtiers 
heard the following words pronounced by the King, in a tone 
of great anger ^— 

" By the mass, sir, I believe you are mad !" 

The looks of the assembled nobles evinced their secret joy. 
Sully, who never gave but to the necessitous and deserving, who 
never granted favours but to those worthy of them, was no favourite 
of the fa^vning courtiers who surrounded his master's throne. - 

An extraordinary scene had just taken place between Henry 
IV. and his minister. The King, at the very moment of 
mounting his horse for the hunt, as if he wished to put off to 
the last moment an avowal of which he secretly felt ashamed, had 
approached Sully, and putting a paper into his hand, desired him 
to peruse it attentively. 

" Good God ! sir,'' exclaimed Sully, after hastily reading it, 
" no great stretch of intellect is required to perceive that this 
is either a stupid joke or an act of madness ;" and he immedi-^ 
ately tore the paper to pieces. 

*' By the mass, sir," exclaimed Henry, '^ I believe you are 
mad !" 







Lo,.;,',<,, ,'.:/://s^,'J l>b /Jn// /.-■{%/> /cm. 2(r. //p//e<l i^: (cn'rni/cj/i .'rrf-' 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 313 

*V Would to God I were the only madman in France!" re- 
plied the faithful minister, casting a look of devoted affection 
upon his master. The paper which had caused this altercation, 
was a promise made by the King to marry Mademoiselle 
d'Entragues in the course of the year. 

When the King saw the paper written by himself, thus torn 
to pieces and strewed about on the floor, he fell into a violent 
rage, and stooping, picked up the fragments, in order to write 
another in the same terms, the form haviiig been dictated to 
him. Sully in vain employed every argument that his devoted 
attachment to Henry could suggest ; but the monarch, so 
feelingly alive at other times to the advice and even remonstrances 
of his friend and minister, was now so blinded by his passion 
that he refused to listen to any observations. Having picked up 
every morsel of the paper, he went into his closet, where M. de 
Lomenie gave him an inkstand, and he remained there a few 
minutes to write the promise over again. He then left the palace 
to join the chase, without speaking a word to him who dared to 
condemn this act of royal folly. 

Sully was the true and tried friend of his King and country. 
He could not but foresee the danger of a marriage with a 
subject, at a moment when France stood in the greatest need 
of foreign alliance. Had the family from which Henry had 
chosen his intended consort been sufficiently powerful to have 
made it a matter of state policy to secure its adherence, — such 
as the house of Guise, for instance. Sully would not perhaps 
have thwarted his master's wishes. But there was real danger 
and even absurdity in elevating Mademoiselle d'Entragues to 
the throne of France. 

When, after the death of the Duchess of Beaufort, Marguerite 
de Valois consented to a divorce from Henry, several alliances 
were proposed to the King, but not one pleased him* 
^... " My good friend," he used to say to Sully, " I should like 
to find beauty, modesty, and virtue, united, in the woman of 
my choice, to great wealth and mental acquirements ; but I am 
afraid no such woman exists. The Infanta of Spain, though 



314 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

old and ugly, would suit me well enough, provided tliat with her I 
married the Netherlands. I will not marry a German princess — 
for a Queen of France, who was of that nation, nearly ruined the 
country. The sisters of Prince Maurice are Huguenots, and my 
choosing one of them would injure me with the court of Rome. 
The Duke of Florence has a very beautiful niece ; but she is 
also of the same family as Queen Catharine, who has done so 
much injury to France and to myself personally ; — I should be 
afraid of such an alliance. In my own dominions, there is my 
niece De Guise ; she is of illustrious birth, elegant, and beauti- 
ful ; a little coquettish, it is true, but mild, amiable, and witty. 
She would please me much ; but I should fear her ambition, 
which would be directed towards the aggrandisement of her 
house and of her brothers. The eldest daughter of the house 
of Mayence, though very dark, would likewise please me ; but 
she is too young. There is a daughter of the house of Lux- 
emburg, another of the house of Guemenee ; then there is my 
cousin De Rohan ; — but she is a Huguenot, and the others do 
not please me.'*"' 

Though Sully well knew that Henry's repugnance to the 
house of Florence w^as not without a cause, yet he anticipated 
great advantages from an alliance with Tuscany. He knew that 
the Princess Mary was extremely beautiftil ; and beauty 
exercised a sovereign sway over the King. He had portraits 
taken of Mary and the Infanta, and then showed them to Henry. 
The Duchess de Beaufort was still living at the time. 

" Ha !"" exclaimed the favourite, while she looked in all the 
consciousness of her own surpassing loveliness at the picture of 
the ugly and wrinkled Infanta, " I fear not this lady, but the 
Florentine alarms me."'"' 

After the King had left the gallery, without addressing a 
single word to Sully, the latter immediately set about nego- 
tiating a suitable marriage for his royal master. He wrote to 
Florence, and jointly with Dossat, accelerated the preliminaries. 
What was very extraordinary, the King not only made no 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 315 

opposition, but even appointed the Constable and Sully his agents 
to confer upon the subject with Gioanni, whom the Grand Duke 
had sent to France for that purpose. 

Sully, aware of the urgency of the case, and anxious to 
prevent what he termed his master's dishonour, carried on 
the negotiation with such celerity, that in the course of a few 
weeks everything was settled, and the articles drawn up and 
signed. Sully then undertook to inform the King of these 
proceedings. Henry was far from expecting so hasty a termi- 
nation. When his minister came to him, he was occupied in 
fastening little silver bells to Mademoiselle d'Entragues' 
falcon. His anger against Sully had long since yielded to his 
friendship for him. On perceiving him he gaily exclaimed : 

" Whence come you, friend Sully ?"" 

*' I come, sir, to make arrangements for your wedding l"*' 

The King appeared thunderstruck. After a few minutes of 
silence, he rose and strode rapidly through the apartment, as was 
his custom when greatly agitated. He seemed under the in- 
fluence of some overwhelming thought. Having at length re- 
covered his composure, just like a man who has made up his 
mind to some serious event — 

" Well," he exclaimed, striking his hands together, " so 
let it be then, as there is no remedy, and the good of my king- 
dom requires that I should marry." 

"^ Mary of Medicis, daughter of Francisco de Medicis and of 
Jane of Austria, was born on the 26th of April 1575. She was 
tall, beautifully formed, and had the most commanding ap- 
pearance. Her mind was highly cultivated, her heart generous, 
expansive, and capable . of great energy ; but these brilliant 
qualities were obscured by defects which not only became the 
source of her own misfortunes, but also entailed the greatest cala- 
mities upon the French nation. She was presumptuous, rather 
than proud of her knowledge ; vain, rather than proud of her 
lineage ; and, above all, of an extremely obstinate temper. 
She was deficient in mildness, in that softness of manner which 
Henry was so desirous of finding in the partner of his throne. 



316 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Tlie definitive treaty was signed at Florence on the 25ih 
of April 1600, by Brulart de Sillery and M. d'Alincourt, who, 
until then, had been the King's agents at the court of 
Rome. The dowry of the Princess was six hundred thousand 
cro^^Tis, an immense quantity of jewels and precious stones, and 
beautifully-'wrought and highly- ornamented furniture. The 
Grand Duke added to this rich portion a still more magnificent 
gift, which was a receipt in full for all the money which Henry 
IV. owed him. The King of France, unwilling to be outdone 
in generosity, settled a doAvry upon the Princess of two hundred 
thousand cro^vns,-r-and Mary de Medicis died in the land of 
exile, eating the bread of charity IN 

Immediately after the signing of the articles, the Grand 
Duke paid to his daughter the honours due to the Queen 
of France. The magnificence of the house of Medicis was 
displayed on this occasion : the festivities were truly royal ; 
( one ballet alone, it is said, cost sixty thousand crowns, h The 
young, lovely, and fascinating Mary was the chief ornament of 
the sumptuous banquet and the brilliant ball. A contemporary 
\STiter, and eye-witness, asserts, that on one occasion she wore 
a dress of carnation silk which cost upwards of two hundred 
thousand crowns. \ Her beautiful auburn hair was held together 
by more than a hundred bodkins of gold, each sm-mounted by 
some valuable precious stone, and thus composing a species of 
crown of the most dazzling brilliancy. Dming a whole month 
these rejoicings were kept up with the same sumptuous pro- 
fusion. 

The day after the contract was signed, M. d'Alincourt set out 
for France with the marriage contract and the Queen's picture. 
Henry, at the same time, sent M. de Frontenac to Florence, 
as the bearer of his first letter to Mary, and his portrait to the 
Grand Duke. De Frontenac was appointed first maitre-d'hotel 
to the Queen. Henry, at this time, was busily occupied in j)re- 
parations for war against Savoy. Mary, in the meantime, ap- 
plied herself to the study of the French language. At length, 
towards the close of the autumn, the King prepared to set out 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 317 

for Lyons, and sent the Duke de Bellegarde, liis grand equerry, 
to the Grand Duke Ferdinand, with his procuration to marry 
the Princess in his name. 

The marriage ceremony was attended with festivities, the 
splendour of which Surpassed even those that had taken 
place at the betrothing. Cardinal Aldobraildini, the Pope's 
legate, performed the nuptial ceremony in the great church of 
Florence ; and, on the 18th of October, Mary left Florence 
for Leghorn, where she embarked, on the 17th, on board of 
a galley, beautiful gilt and ornamented with splendid and 
costly paintings. Sixteen vessels of the same description, 
though less magnificent, accompanied her. This pageant, 
which might almost be considered fabulous, calls to mind the 
celebrated voyage of Cleopatra down the river Cydnus. 

Mary was received in all the towns of France through which 
she passed, with an enthusiasm proportionate to the love of the 
people for their king. At Lyons she waited more than a week 
for the King. On the 9th of December Henry reached the 
city at eleven o''clock at night, having travelled rapidly, with a 
considerable suite. The night was cold, and it rained very 
hard, " which did not prevent the King,"' says Sully, in his 
memoirs, " from keeping us an hour at the bridge of Lyons, 
because he would not be recognized. We were wet to the 
skin, and benumbed with cold ; but the King wished to sur- 
prise the Queen, and forbade his name to be pronounced.^' 

On' entering the house in which the Queen resided, he was 
informed that the Queen was at supper. He then conceived 
the idea of seeing her without being observed, and entered 
the room where she was ; but, in spite of his orders to be al- 
lowed to pass unnoticed, he was instantly recognized, and every 
one made way for him. He then withdrew, exclaiming, 

'(Faith, gentlemen, I did not think it was so difficult not 
to be a king i^-. 

From the bustle in the apartment, Mary had perceived that 
something had taken place. She remained silent, but her 
blushes indicated that she had guessed the truth. She re- 



318 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

mained but a short time at table, and, as soon as etiquette 
would allow, slie withdrew to her chamber. Henry, who only 
waited for this, came to her door, and made the Duke de 
Bellegarde, his grand equerry, knock. The Duke made the 
Queen comprehend the object of his application, and the 
door was immediately opened. The Duke entered Mary's 
chamber, followed by the King, at whose feet the Queen 
cast herself. Henry immediately raised and warmly em- 
braced her. He continued conversing with her some time 
with that winning grace he alone could give to words. He 
then asked her permission to retire to supper, and left her, 
delighted with him. 

- After supper, he sent a message to Madame de Nemours, 
the Queen''s maid of honour, commanding her to present a re- 
quest from him to her royal mistress, the substance of which 
was, that, there being no apartment provided for him, he 
begged the Queen would allow him to share hers. " To which 
the Queen replied,'"' says the old chronicle, " that she had 
only come thither to please and obey his Majesty, in every re- 
spect, as his most humble servant."" , 

Although the marriage had been perfectly ratified and so- 
lemnized, the King, nevertheless, according to Father Matthew, 
in his history of Henry IV., " wished his people to share 
in this great event, and that the rejoicings should be public ; 
the ceremony was therefore repeated at the great altar of the 
church of St. John at Lyons, and the royal couple received 
the nuptial blessing from the Pope's legate." ;,= 

The King, meanwhile, did not lose a single day in endea-i 
vouring to settle his differences with the Duke of Savoy-, ^.r 
The treaty was already signed by the Pope's legate in the 
name of his Holiness, by Sully on the part of France, and by 
the Duke of Savoy himself ; but the definitive ratification wa,s 
continually delayed by the intrigues of Count of Fuentes, the . 
Spanish minister. The King, at length, became vexed at 
being continually thwarted in a matter which he had treated 
with all the openness of his natiu'e. 



MARY OF MEDICTS. 319 

" He will not sign," said lie to Sully ; " well, be it so. JBut 
I can no longer await his will and pleasure. I must show my 
wife to the Parisians, who are clamorous in their wishes to see 
their Queen : I shall therefore set out, and you must accom- 
pany me." 

The King left the Constable and M. Lesdeguiere on the 
frontiers, to be ready to act in case the Duke of Savoy should 
commence hostilities. Villeroy remained at Lyons with the 
other commissioners, to sign the treaty of peace, if the Duke 
thought proper to listen to reason, in accordance with his real 
interests ; and one night, attended only by Bassompierre, Sully, 
and a few other courtiers, Henry IV. set out for Paris, where 
he arrived in a few days. 

Meanwhile, the Queen had reached Nemours ; and the 
King, taking sixty horses, went to fetch her, and brought her 
to Fontainebleau, where the royal couple remained six days, 
although it was only in the beginning of March. But, at this 
period, every place had attractions for Mary, who had not then 
yielded to the influence of jealousy. 

The Queen had several Italians with her, two only of whom 
she could admit to her intimacy. One was Don Giovanni, a 
natural son of a member of the house of Medicis ; the other was 
her cousin, a handsome youth named Virgilio degli Grsini, who 
having been brought up with her, had conceived a hope which 
could never be realized. This young Florentine loved his 
cousin, but his passion was not returned. This sort of attach- 
ment had nothing reprehensible at that period — it was styled, as 
in Spain, galantear, simple gallantry. A young nobleman, 
named Concino or Concini, and a young lady named Eleonora 
Galigai, had also accompanied the Queen to France. A few 
short years only were to elapse before these latter were both 
to undergo the most dreadful fate that hatred and cruelty could 
devise. 

The municipal authorities of Paris were desirous of offering a 
magnificent entry to the Queen, but the King declined the 
pageant. 



320 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

X^* We have other and more pressing wants," said he to the 
magistrates deputed to him ; " the Queen my wife is not less. 
grateful for your good intentions/' 

This, however, was not strictly true, and Henry himself was 
aware of it ; for the Queen his wife was fond of pomp and 
pageantry, and in her taste for magnificence was a true scion of 
the house of Medicis. The King's command was however 
obeyed, and the Queen made an unostentatious entry. When 
she passed in her litter through the gate of the Faubom-g St. 
Marcel, Sully, then Marquis de Rosny, fired a triple salute from 
the arsenal. The Queen proceeded along the exterior of the city 
to the hotel de Gondy in the Faubourg St. Germain. On the 
following day she went to the house of Zamel, who, it appears, 
f^'^joyed the honour of receiving all the wives of Hem-y IV. 
whether legitimate or not. 

Next day Henry wished the Queen to dine with him at M. 
de Rosny's. 

'- He is my friend,'' said Henry to her ; " you must love 
him for my sake." 

" I will love him for his own sake," replied Mary, with a 
charming expression of countenance. 

The Queen, accompanied by her Italian court, went next 
day to the arsenal, where Sully received her in the most sump- 
tuous manner. The young Florentines, fond of gaiety and 
dissipation, were delighted with the cordiality of their reception. 
Henry himself appeared surprised at the lively and jovial 
manner of his habitually severe and grave minister. Sully, in 
his Memoirs, relates the events of the day in the following 
terms : 

^ " Seeing that those lovely young women found my Arbois 
wine to their taste, I resolved to make them drink plentifully of 
it. I ordered the jugs to be filled, and when they asked for 
water to mingle with their wine, they were served with my Arbois 
wine. It was quite marvellous to see how they talked. The 
Queen, perceiving them in such high spirits, guessed that I had 
played them a trick." 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 321 

Notliing in my opinion can be more singular than tlie con- 
trast between this joyous scene and Sully^s habitual gravity 
of demeanour. 

The winter was spent in brilliant festivities. Henry wished 
to make the Queen happy, and thought to do so by lavishing 
upon her all those worldly pleasures, which soon satiate a 
heart already corroded by the canker-worm of jealousy. ; Mary 
was pregnant, and the King, who really loved her, paid her 
every attention that affection could devise ; but after containing 
her feelings for some time, she gave them vent in bitter re- 
proaches, which Henry was unable to brook, and the less so 
because he deserved them. (The happiness of the royal couple 
was now at an end7 > 

This year was, however, marked by an event which ought to 
have permanently reconciled the King and Queen. Mary gave 
birth to a son. 

The court was then at Fontainebleau, it being the hunting- 
season. The King, eager to promote the Queen's enjoyments, 
varied each day the amusements offered to her. Sometimes 
he accompanied her to a hunt in the beautiful forest of Fon- 
tainebleau, then to a fete champetre, or to " The chaste and 
sincere loves of Theagenes and Chariclea,"' by Hardy the fertile. 
Sometimes a ballet would succeed the chase. When in the 
forest, the Queen was always in a litter, and every moment the 
King would come to her, squeezing her hand, .and using the most 
affectionate language. 

'•' My dear friend," he wrote to Sully, after the birth of 
his son, " ^0 not bring any person hither upon business. . 
We must not talk of business during the first week after the 
Queen's confinement ; we shall have quite enough to do to 
amuse her.'' 

The Queen was delivered of a son on Thursday, the 1 7th 
of September 1601. This event caused the most universal 
joy. Since the time of Francis II. there had been no Dauphin 
in France, and Henry was beloved by the whole nation. He 
was so elated that his joy seemed a perfect delirium. He 



322 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

threw himself on his knees, shed tears, kissed the Queen's 
hands, then his son. Mary's labour had been long and painful, 
and the child was nearly exhausted when it came into the world. 
Henry invoked the blessings of Heaven upon its head, and 
putting his sword into its little hands, prayed with the utmost 
fervour that he might never draw that weapon but to defend the 
honour of his country. ariui; c 

^^" Come, my sweet friend,""' said he to Mary, " let us rejoice, 
for God has given us that which we so much desired." 

He then ran, unattended, to the principal church of Fontaine- 
bleau. The crowd was so great that the King lost his hat ; and 
what is very singular, he never perceived his loss. 

A very remarkable fact is, that the Queen, wishing to have 
her son's nativity cast, not only did not find the King averse to 
it, but Henry, with his usual candour, owned that he desired it 
himself. Lariviere, first physician to the King, was ordered 
to do it. This man, taking advantage of his office of royal 
physician and astrologer, gave himself great airs, and refused fo? 
a time to speak, and when at last he was angrily commanded to 
do so, he complied with a very bad grace. 

.---X." At length,'' says Sully, " he did speak, but he spoke very 
ill. ' Your son,' said he to the Queen, ' will live the usual 
space of man's life, and will reign longer than his father, from 
whom he will differ in every respect, both in temper and dispo- 
sition. He will follow his own caprices and opinions, and some- 
times those of others. It is necessary now that I should say less 
than I think. All your cares will be frustrated,' said he, ad- 
dressing the King ; ' he will have descendants, it is true, but 
after him, things wUl go on worse and worse. This is all you 
shall know fi-om me, and is more than I wished to say.' " 

This prediction made the King very uneasy, according tc 
Sully, who was himself a firm believer in astrology. ..With 
regard to the Queen, it was not astonishing that she. placed, 
faith in this pretended science, since it was generally believed in 
her o-\Mi country. 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 323 

In order to satisfy the Parisians, who expressed the greatest 
wish to see the Dauphin, the King had him carried through 
the streets of Paris in an open litter. The people appreciated 
this act of compliance with their wishes, and hailed the appear- 
ance of the infant heir with expressions of great joy. At the 
same time an infanta was born in Spain, (^he was destined 
to unite her fortune to that of Henry's son, who afterwards ac- 
quired the title of '' the just f a title most falsely applied to 
him, for he was one of the worst even among the wicked kings 
who have ruled France, h 

During the ensuing year, the famous conspiracy of Marshal 
Biron took place. I should not mention it here, but that it 
was the cause of the return to court of the Duke d'Eper- 
non, and the beginning of his attachment to Mary. The Duke 
d'Epernon, fearing that his name might be coupled with this 
conspiracy, which extended all over France, voluntarily sur- 
rendered himself prisoner to the King, whose chivalrous nature 
w^as perfectly capable of comprehending so noble a proceeding. 
But the Duke's conduct made a deep impression upon the 
ardent mind of Mary. She thought a man capable of so noble 
an action not only proved his innocence, but gave the strongest 
evidence of a pure and lofty spirit. The Duke had that fasci- 
nation of manner which characterised the dissolute but chi- 
valrous court of Henry IV. He was endowed with every 
quality likely to attract and win the affections of a woman — 
more especially of a Queen. I do not mean to say that Mary 
ever forgot her duties as a wife ; but the Duke exercised an un- 
bounded influence over her. In return, he was sincerely and 
faithfully devoted to her, and proved it in every circumstance of 
his life. 

Biron's conspiracy caused the ruin of many families. Never- 
theless, the winter of 1602 was gay and brilliant. Each night, 
the windows of the Louvre, the great gallery of which was just 
finished, blazed with a thousand lights. The apartments w^ere 
crowded with young and beautiful ladies, dressed in the most 

2a 



324 JJVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

splendid style of the day, and sparkling with diamonds and 
other precious gems. But in the midst of the most lovely of 
the courtly dames, among whom were the Princess de Conti, 
Madame de Mayenne, Mademoiselle de Chevreuse, Made- 
moiselle de Guise, and many others, blooming with youth and 
beauty, appeared Mary, more lovely than all, and with the 
lofty and dignified bearing befitting her high station. When 
she entered the throne-room, followed by a crowd of youthful , 
beauties, Henry used to say to those near him — 

f My wife, the Queen, is the most beautiful of them all/ 
At mid-lent, in the winter of 1602, a ballet was given 
for the entertainment of the Queen. It was of extraordinary 
splendour and magnificence. She herself played one of the 
principal characters, and her style of beauty, peculiarly adapted 
to the blaze of a well-lighted room, showed her charms to grea^^ 
advantage. This entertainment took place at the Arsenal, andfc 
the Queen so fascinated her husband by her beauty and grac%j> 
that his affection for her now became a passion. She had giv^'j 
a Dauphin to France ; everything conspired to make her beloYnq 
ed, but her jealousy of the Marchioness de Verneuil had now asn-. 
sumed a character of bitter animosity, and it destroyed all he^-[ 
fair prospects of happiness. An incident which occurred a shorty 
time after, but which fortunately did not lead to the unhapp3Jg 
consequences which might have been expected from it, ultiq-j 
mately made these two women deadly foes. ?^ 

The King and Queen were proceeding one day to St. Gerr)^ 
main, accompanied by the Princess de Conti and the Duke de 
Montpensier. The cumbrous vehicle in which they travelled;,; 
was overturned at the ferry near Neuilly. The King and thfy^ 
Duke de Montpensier jumped out through the carriage-door -fol 
but the Queen and the Princess de Conti narrowly escaped 
a watery grave. La Chategneraie, the Queen's- equerry, dragged;! 
her out of the water by her hair, which fortunately was very long. ? 
The Marchioness de Verneuil, when speaking to the King of this 
accident, told him that she had felt much alarmed for his safety^j 
i " But after all," added she laughing, " had I been present, I 



MARY OF MEDTCrS. 325 

sjfiould certainly, after you had been saved, have called out with 
much satisfaction, ' the Queen drinks."* '' 
/^ Mary was informed of this joke, and felt greatly irritated. She 
complained bitterly to the King, who now plainly saw that he 
should never enjoy domestic happiness. The unmeasured terms 
in which the Queen continually expressed herself, rendered their 
quarrels long and violent, and they became so frequent, that 
even in the middle of the night Jlenry was often obliged to rise 
and retire to his own apartment, to seek a temporary relief from 
the ebullitions of Mary's anger. 

Henry's life now became completely wretched. The Queen 
had given a second child to France, but these pledges, ge-- 
nerally so binding, were here powerless. Sully plainly saw 
the ravages which domestic strife was making upon the noble 
features of his beloved master. At length the King came one 
day to the Arsenal, and taking Sully into the gallery of 
arms, the usual place selected for confidential conversation, he 
theire unbosomed himself to the only man capable of sym- 
pathising in his distress. The Marchioness de Verneuil had be- 
come a perfect fury ; and when the King left her to return to 
his wife, he found nothing but tears and violence. The 
Marchioness had never loved him. Haughty and ambitious, 
she had aspired only to the throne, and she now even enter- 
tained an aversion to Henry. By Mary, on the contrary, he 
was really beloved; but it was impossible to live in such 
continual strife. 

Sully undertook to endeavour to pacify the Queen's jealousy, 
and render her more indulgent towards her royal husband. But 
what was his surprise, on learning from her, that she was in- 
formed of the King's most secret actions. 

^<^ I ask you, M. de Rosny," exclaimed the haughty Floren- 
tine, " whether it is proper that I should tolerate at my court 
a woman who pretends that she is the lawful Queen of France, 
and that I am the King's concubine — I, his legitimate wife, and 
the mother of his son .^" 

Mary paced the room with hurried steps while her eyes 

2 A S 



3*26 LI\'ES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

flaslied ^vitll contending passions. Sully, not understanding her 
meaning, begged an explanation. 

■l/;i^':Wliat !'' slie exclaimed, "do you not know? — This is im- 
possible !'' — and in a fury she called her favourite attendant," 
Eleonora Galigai, and when the latter appeared, the Queen said 
a few words in Italian. Eleonora immediatelv brought a small 
box, from which Mary, drawing a paper, presented it to Sullv, 
■while her hand trembled with passion. He saw with astonish- 
ment thas it was an exact copy of the promise of marriage given 
by the King to Madame de Verneuil. 

.--"It was in the very same year, nay, a few days before mvhand 
■was solicited, that this promise was written. It is an act,'' con- 
tinued the Queen, shedding tears of rage and despair, " which 
would disgrace a nobleman, much more a King ! No, this 
offence cannot be pardoned.'" 

Sully remained silent ; — he felt how culpable his master 
wa5. 

'^ \yith regard to you, "^l. de Rosny, I do not accuse you of 
any participation in this scandalous transaction : I know you 
endeavoured to oppose it. But since the King has deputed you 
to point out my faults to me, tell him, that, far from repenting, 
I demand that the original of this promise be given to me in the 

coui'se of two days, otherwise "" 

The Queen then motioned to M. de Sully and to her con- 
fidant to withdraw. The unhappy wife, overcome by her feel- 
ings, wished to relieve herself by tears. 

Sully could not but OAvn that this time at least the Queen 
was right, and Henry himself acknowledged it. He instantly 
repaired to the Marchioness de Verneuil, and demanded, in a 
tone that showed he would be obeyed, the restitution of the 
promise of marriage. 

But the despair and anger of Mary were nothing compared 
to the fury of the Marchioness when Henry intimated his 
desire to have the promise returned. She unhesitatingly told 
him that he might seek it elsewhere;^ ^'^v iouo /M . .5i3ilv/t?a.: 
V "But, Henriette,'' said the King, coHtai-ftinf ^tmsFlf^'-^* do 



■ i MALIY OF MEDICIS. 327 

fyou forget tliat this paper is of no farther value now ; what do 
you intend to do with it ?'"* 

" To keep it as a proof that you are a man without honour^ 
and without faith,"' the Marchioness replied. 
^'' "^[ndeed ! And you, Madam,'"* rejoined the King, " what 
name do you give to the share which you and your relatives 
have taken in the conspiracies against my life ? If, from regard 
for you, I annulled the sentence of death pronounced against 
your brother, the Count d'Entragues, can you not give me 
back a promise which is now of no value ?'' 

\bft&ff 'iknd if such be not my will ?" 
-lie-' I will compel you to do it."*' 
lioj/The Marchioness smiled contemptuously. 

.>??1f^" Indeed !" said she ; '' I am very glad, however, that our con- 
nexion is at an end ; for now that you are old, you have become 

'i^spicious and tiresome. I am glad that I am at last free." 
She then proceeded to speak of the Queen in such terms 
that the King forgot himself, and was about to strike her ; 
but quitting her abruptly, he returned to the Louvre, where, 
however, another storm awaited him. When the Queen learned 
that he had not been able to make the Marchioness obey him, 
her tears and ravings knew no bounds. The King, fairly worn 
out by such quarrels, at length went to the Arsenal to seek a 
momentary consolation from Sully, to whom he confided the 
tale of his misery, and owned the weakness he was still guilty 
of; for his passion for the Marchioness remained unabated. 
He soon forgot her conduct, and only dwelt upon the charms 
of her conversation and the fascination of her manners, con- 
trasting them with the haughty, unbending behaviour of the 
Queen. 

" I find," said he, " in my wife's society, no charm — no 

/amusement. She will not accommodate herself to my temper. 
When I return home and wish to converse familiarly, her cold 
repulsive manners force me to leave her and seek consolation 
elsewhere. My poor cousin, De Guise, is my only solace ; she 
tells me of my faults without reserve, but with such grace and 



'''fes LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 



.. ,•■»^i•.■ 



^&6d iinnlotir, that I cannot feel angry with her, and she alw^ays 
ends by making me laugh with her/"* 

. I have extracted these eX|)ressions from Sully"'s Memoirs, in 
order to show that Mary owed her misfortunes to herself. Had 
she acted otherwise, she alone might have been the object of 
Henry"'s love. 

The quarrels of the King and Queen became at length so fre- 
<^uent and so distressing, that the health of the former was af- 
fected. Mary went so far as to take her meals alone in her own 
apartment, and even threatened to return to Florence. Sully 
then advised his master to adopt the only course he could follow, 
namely, to assume the mastery, and prevent the Queen from 
giving way in public to her passion ; also to punish severely 
those who poisoned her mind with bad advise, and fed her jea- 
lousy. Galigai and her husband were especially designated. 
But Henry shook his head, and replied, that he never could adopt 
rigorous measures against a person with whom he constantly lived, 
especially when that person was his wife. Sully now perceived 
that there was no chance of domestic happiness for his master. 
Nevertheless he went to the Queen, and prevailed upon her to 
live upon more friendly terms with the King. He thus suc- 
ceeded in again producing, for a time, tranquillity in the royal 
household. But this kind of truce did not last long. Mary 
was insatiable in her demands for money ; and new taxes were 
levied upon the people. At length the King^s treasury being 
exhausted, Mary met with a refusal to one of her demands for 
money. On hearing this she exclaimed in a fury — • 

'' What ! shall it be said that the daughter of the Grand 
Duke of Florence, who brought a dower of six hundred thousand 
crowns, and the value of several millions in diamonds, is reduced 
to want what is necessary ? I shall know how to force them to 
give me the money I require."*"* 

Next day the crown jewels of the Queen of France were pledged 
for a considerable sum. None of Mary's own jewels were thus dis- 
posed of. It was, however, necessary to redeem these jewels with 
funds from the royal treasury. The domestic harmony of the 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 329 

King and Queen was thus again disturbed, and the Marchioness 

de Verneuil, on hearing of this circumstance, used every method 

which her fertile imagination could devise, to bring Henry back 

to her, in order that she might again triumph over her detested 

rival. She spread the report that she was about to be married 

to a man she loved ; and then with that talent for intrigue which 

formed the basis of her character, she found friends who, with 

pretended scruples of conscience, took into consideration the 

i, promise of marriage given to her by the King, and actually 

Y'Went so far as to publish her banns with him. This last fact 

would be scarcely credited if not substantiated by testimony 

0j which it is impossible not to believe. In short, all this plotting 

yl-^and contriving of the Marchioness ended in her attaining her ob- 

.j> ject : the King returned to her more enamoured than ever, and 

the mistress again triumphed over the wife. 
^y, Quarrels between the King and Queen again became as before 
^£)^of almost daily occurrence. Her Italian spies haying one day 
^o informed her that Henry had been to Verneuil a short time pre- 
viously, when he had told Mary that he was going to Fontaine^ 
bleau, the Queen violently upbraided him. The King had been 
bled the day before, and the agitation produced by this quarrel 
caused the vein to open again. .He answered with some bitter- 
ness, and Mary, unable to contain herself, rushed upon him with 
uplifted arm. Sully, who was present, fortunately placed himself 
...between the royal pair, and arrested the intended blow. It was 
•f^fthus that the four first years of Henry's marriage were spent. His 
love for Madame de Verneuil increased every day, 'and Mary's 
£,i^ealousy became at length a passion which absorbed every better 
feeling. Henry committed, indeed, another fault, which nearly 
drove the Queen to desperation. 

Marshal Biron's conspiracy had caused the blood of some of 
the first families of the provinces to flow upon the scaffold. 
Some, however, escaped, others were pardoned and again con- 
^e-flpired against Henry : a^r|ong the latter was the Count d'Au- 
vergne, natural son of Charles IX. He was arrested. Several 
pefsoji^jj^f^^guality were implicated. At the head of them was 



330 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

tlie Count d'Entragucs and liis sister the Marchioness de Ver- 
neiiiL The Queen on hearing of this lady's arrest uttered a cry of 
joy ; but did she not know that a devoted lover forgives every- 
thing except infidelity^ and that no other crime, however heinous, 
can induce him to destroy the object of a deep passion ? The 
Marchioness was pardoned. 

.'""When she was arrested, she exclaimed : " I am indiiferent 
about dying, or rather, I should prefer suffering death ; for if 
the King went to that extremity, it would be said that he had 
saciificed his wife — for I am the real Queen. I have only 
three things to ask of his Majesty : a pardon for my father — -a 
halter for my brother — and justice for myself; for if justice were 
done to me, I should be at the Louvre instead of that banker's 
daughter ?" .Cfr ^frfBi 

The King saw the Marchioness, who allowed him to kiss her 
hand, and condescended to accept her pardon. This monarch, ■: 
so great, so glorious as a sovereign, became once more the slaves; 
of a woman who did not even reward him with her affection. '>i^'' 

The court of Henry IV was certainly very singularly com- 
posed, and it is not astonishing that Mary of Medicis could not 
approve of all she saw. The principal personages were favourite 
mistresses, natural children acknowledged and rendered legiti- 
mate, and a first Queen of France, who, in 1605, came from 
her place of retirement, as if to disprove the assertion of the 
Marchioness, by saying, " I alone am Queen of France and 
Navarre."" :: ?/ 

When Margaret of Yalois came to Paris, it was feared 
that INIary of Medicis would receive her ill ; but Mary was 
amiable and courteous to Henry's former vdfe, reserving 
all the hatred her heart was capable of for the Marchioness 
de Verneuil. She even begged the King to show Mar- 
garet every atteniioi^^Qand treated her in every respect as a 
sister. 

Notwithstanding her love of show and parade, Mary had a 
species of avarice which most sovereigns possess, but which she 
carried to excess. She would .give ord^jS-iipon her private ti:€a-; 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 331 

Sliry without considering tlie amount, and she kept for herself the 
purse of gold counters which it was customary for the Minister 
of Finance to give to the Dauphin, or rather to his governess, 
Madame de Monglas, on New-Year^s-day. 

The Queen, far advanced in her pregnancy, was asleep in her 
bedchamber, which was filled with courtiers, according to the 
custom of the times. Henry gently awoke her, and bidding 
the courtiers retire, said in his usual joyous manner — 

" Come, awake, my sweet sleeper; kiss me, and no more 
scolding. It would hurt you in your present state, and you 
know it will be a boy. Now, be good, and let New-Year''s- 
day be celebrated by a good and earnest promise of always living 
amicably together.'** 

The Queen promised everything, but according to her usual 
custom, turned the auspicious day into one of strife and bicker- 
ing. She told Henry that she also must have her New- Year's 
present. 

" By heavens ! you shall have it love — what is it ?'''' 

The Queen leaned towards him, and in her most winning man- 
ner, replied : " The dismissal of the Marchioness de Verneuil." 

The Kinof rushed from the bed on which he was sitting. 

** Why, how now !" exclaimed he with an oath, " are you sing- 
ing always the same song. Do you know but one tune .?" 

Henry quitted the chamber, and during three days did not 
speak to the Queen. 

Mary was delivered on the 10th of February 1606. The 
astrologers, whose predictions were at that time generally be- 
lieved, had foretold that the Queen's life would be in much 
danger, and that she would have a son. But she was delivered 
of a daughter, and not the slightest accident occurred during 
her labour that could affect her health. This circumstance 
made 4he Queen grieve bitterly, for she passionately desired a 
son. 

" Come," said Henry, in his usual light-hearted manner, " let 
us console ourselves ; if our daughter does not obtain an esta- 
blishment, she will not be the only one. Begides, if your mo- 



332 Ll\ES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

ther had given birth to sons only, you would not now be 
Queen of France."' 

During this year, 1606, the quan-els of the royal couple be- 
came more and more violent. Henry proposed that Sully should 
be umpire in their dissensions ; but Mary refused, much to the 
minister's satisfaction. 

But what alarmed this faithful friend of his King was the new 
course that Mary had adopted. Without any talent for state 
affairs, the Queen took it into her head to be a politician. She 
supported with all her might the politics of Spain. The King 
took her with him on the expedition to Sedan, and there she 
sided with the Duke of Bouillon. She was very near becoming 
the protectress of Duplessis Momay, who, at the time of the 
expedition, which he endeavoured to thwart, had formed the plan 
of a Calvinistic republic. All these follies deeply affected the 
King, who was informed of everything, and would have separated 
from her, but that he dearly loved his children, and she was their 
mother. When his son Gaston was born, the tie between him 
and Mary became riveted for ever. He carried his compliance 
with all her wishes so far, that at her request, when her sister 
the Duchess of Mantua came to stand godmother to the Dau- 
phin, he gave her precedence before the princes and nobles of 
France, which greatly offended the latter. At the ceremony of 
-the baptism, Mary appeared in all her splendour as Queen of 
France, as if there had been no king. It was so arranged in 
order to satisfy her taste for pomp and pageantiy. 
- The Queen was sparkling with j^recious gems. The christen- 
ing took place at Fontainebleau, because in that year a contagious 
disorder raged at Paris ; and as the chapels of the palace were 
too small, the court of the tower was spread with the most 
costly carpets, and the ceremony performed there. Cardinal de 
Joyeuse, who was then the Pope's Legate, represented his ho- 
liness, as godfather to the royal babe. An extraordinary oc- 
cuiTcnce was the appearance of Margaret de Valois. A repu- 
diated queen ought never to appear at a court from which she 
has been banished. :>:L'i ^^ ->l ^cj <>\ ^nuny- 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 333 

In the month of April 1 608, Mary gave birth to a second 
son, who afterwards took the title of Duke of Orleans. She 
was then at Fontainebleau, where the King constantly re- 
sided. He was attached to the Countess Moret, whom he 
had settled in a house in the neighbourhood. The Queen was 
soon apprised of this new amour, and again the domestic strife 
was resumed with more bitterness than ever. Her temper now 
become so morose that she herself felt how much she rendered 
her own life and that of her husband unhappy. She saw the 
effect her jealousy produced upon Henry, whom she tenderly 
loved, and that she was making herself hated by the man 
she almost idolized. 

"When I see him leave me,*" said she to her confidant, 
Galigai, " with such an expression of indifference, and bid me 
farewell with such coldness to go to those hunting-parties, 
which are nothing bvit pretences to hide some base intrigue, I 
feel my heart ready to burst with grief. My sufferings are 
greater than death itself.'** 

At length these domestic differences rose to such a height, 
that one day Henry abruptly quitted the Queen*'s apartment, 
vowing he would never enter it again. He went to the Arsenal 
and found some consolation in stating his grievances to Sully. 
The latter, perceiving the unhappy state of the King's feelings, 
attempted not to soothe him, but allowed him to give way to 
his sorrow freely, determined, after his departure, to see the 
Queen. 

On reaching the Louvre, he found the royal apartments de- 
serted. Mary was in her closet, and had given strict orders not to 
be disturbed by any one. But Sully was never included in these 
orders, and Eleonora Galigai having informed the Queen of his 
presence, he was immediately admitted. He found Mary in a 
state bordering on frenzy, but thankingiihim. for his visit she 
said — ^ i-3iM]: 

" You come to see a wretched womaiiv I am, indeed, very 
unhappy. It is doubly fortunate that you are come, for I was 
writing to the King, and will show you my lettex.**' - 



334 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

This epistle was couched in terms of bitterness. Sully, fore- 
seeing the effect it would produce upon the King's mind, said 
with his usual candour — -bf aaso 

:^ " Does youi- Majesty, then, wish to return to Florence P"' 

The Queen looked stedfastly at him ; she did not appear to 
understand his meaning. 

^.; " To Florence!" she at length replied ; "do you think he 
would send me thither T'' . ■o'l 

' " I am confident he would.""' 

The Queen turned pale, and fell into a profound reverie. At 
length she said in a mild tone — loo ms 

" M. de Sully, I will write another letter — ^will you dictate it ?" 

But when Mary took up her pen to write, she stopped, and 
mentioned to the Duke a circumstance which surprised him so 
much that he appeared quite confounded. jok^f. !■ 

"Do you know,*' said she, "that I must inform the King 
of a circumstance I have hitherto kept from him. Several no- 
blemen of the court have frequently addressed me in the lan- 
guage of love ; every one does not see me with the same eyes as 
the King." 

Sully could scarcely conceive that he had heard correctly^ 
but the Queen having repeated her words, he exclaimed — • 
," Inform the King of that circumstance. Madam! — you 
surely do not intend to do so ?^'' 

"Why not.?" 

" Because, Madam, the King will believe that there is not a 
man in France who would dare to raise his thoughts to his 
Queen, if she had not cast hers upon him." 

" Monsieur le Duke !" exclaimed !Mary, rising with anger. 

The faithful minister remained unabashed beneath the fiery 
glance of the imperious but innocent princess. 

" I did not say," continued Sully, " that your Majesty 
had encouraged any one of these insolent courtiers who 
have dared to insult you : I have, lonly stated what the Kiaag 
will think on reading such a letter." nai^o OYmi L .Tsrf isvo 

Mary reseated herself, and taking 'her pen, dfesifed SliHy 



MARY OF MEDICIS. -l/u« 335 

to dictate wliat lie pleased. The idea of returning to Florence 
greatly alarmed her. 

As it generally happens when a person writes in the name of 
another, Sully dictated a trivial and unmeaning letter, to which 
Mary added a postscript, containing a mild expostulation relative 
to the Marchioness de Verneuil, and asking for her dismissal. 

The King was exceedingly vexed with this letter, and the 
following day wrote to Sully as follows : 
"^^^ I have received, my dear friend, a most impertinent letter 
from my wife — pray endeavour to discover the author of it, for I 
am convinced she did not write it herself. Whoever he may be^ 
I will never see him again.'''' I ^'^ili/fe 

Although Sully was certain of his master's favour, this cir- 
cumstance caused him much uneasiness, and he secretly cursed 
all lovers and jealous wives. Nevertheless, Henry, to whom he 
immediately owned that he was the author of the letter, freely 
forgave him, and soon forgot the circumstance. j 

One day the King came early to the Arsenal; he appeared 
4;houghtful and agitated. -^viku-^ 

" My friend," said he , to the Duke, " I wish to speak to 
you. 

'' Is it upon business of Importance that your Majesty de- 
sires to confer with me ?— for I have much to attend to ; and 

as it is for your Majesty's service ^^ :n9Jrrx i' 

" Of importance !" interrupted the King, striding through 
the apartment with hurried steps — " Yes, of the greatest im- 
portance. My dear friend, those two women will drive me 
mad ; you must settle the business between them.'"* 

Sully followed the King to the gallery of arms. 
y, , <c ^jy friend," resumed the King, " you must absolutely get 
my wife to send away those Concini : tell her, as from your- 
geMj- Miat if she desires to satisfy iKfe, 's^smust obey me in 
this respect. Nothing can be more annoying to me than 
the influence which she has allowed those people to acquire 
over her. I have often reproached myself with not having 
fdbw^ the advice of the Duchess her mother, of Don Gio- 



336 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

vanni lier unele, and my own opinion, and sent all those Italians 
back from Marseilles. Since Don Giovanni took upon liimself 
to tell her so, you have witnessed her anger against him : she 
has at length forced him to leave France. His depai-tm-e 
caused her the greatest pleasure on account of Concini, who 
was frightened to death lest Don Giovanni should poniard him, 
which would certainly have been the case. The Marchioness 
de Verneuil, in the hope of coming to the Louvre, has pro- 
posed several plans to me, such as to make Leonora marry Con- 
cini, by which means they might be sent away together to 
their own country, there to enjoy the great wealth they have 
amassed in France. But all this has tended to render the Queen 
more wary ; and those people have become so arrogant and 
insolent, that they have even uttered threats against my per- 
son, if I dare to attack their adherents." 

The King continued, in his anger, to relate all that Con- 
cini had done, and was still effecting, by his intrigues. 

'' I have been told," he said, '' that this man, obscure 
and unknown, has behaved disrespectfully to your wife«-t^-^ 
that he has been to your house — and that, fearing to hurt 
the Queen's feelings, you have remained silent. Is this true, 
Rosny?" 

" I behaved thus, Sir, on your account," answered Sully, 
casting a look of affectionate respect on his master : " since 
you have been unwilling to act as master, and yourself send 
all these Italians beyond the mountains, such conduct must be 
pursued, in order not to be driven to the extremity of fighting 
in the streets of Paris, as they did at Florence during the time 
of the Gibellines and the Guelfs." 

" Ah r' exclaimed Henry, following the com'se of his own 
thoughts, " how vexed I was when I saw that man, that 
Italian, at the tilting-match at the Porte St. Antoine, tilt 
against the most noble, the most illustrious men of Franeef< 
in presence of the Queen and of all the ladies of my coutt; f 
I cannot express how angry I was when I saw him conquer 
my voung and valiant nobles. You, my friend, must send 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 337 

away tliese people; I shall esteem tliat service greater than 
if you had taken the Castle of Milan with your artillery. 
Something tells me that this man and woman will one day 
bring great misfortunes upon France.'" 

" And now," continued the King, rather hesitatingly, ^' we 
must talk of the Marchioness. You must tell her, my good 
friend, that she is on the point of losing my favour. Others 
are endeavouring to win me, and if that were to succeed, she 
would be immured in a convent, and separated from her chil- 
dren. I am persuaded she no longer loves me ; I know that 
she dares to speak of me with contempt, and prefers others td 
me. Besides, I also know that she seeks protection from the 
house of Lorraine. Her familiarity with Messieurs de Guise 
and de Joinville is particularly displeasing to me. Tell her, 
in short, that the principal cause of my displeasure is her 
scandalous conduct towards the Queen.'' 

The King's complaints afterwards led to many reflections 
upon the events that shortly followed. Sully could not but 
approve of Henry's resolution to be obeyed, but he also 
plainly saw the impossibility of succeeding, from the very 
fact of his commands being transmitted by another person. 
The Concini would clearly perceive that they were feared, 
since it was not deemed prudent to attack them openly. Sully, 
therefore, only partially succeeded in restoring momentary peace 
to his master's mind. 

The longest calm that Henry enjoyed was immediately after 
the birth of Gaston of France, which event took place at Fon- 
tainebleau, on the 26th of April 1608. This birth gave the King 
great delight, and he evinced such affection for the Queen, 
that her heart was touched, and she seemed at length anxious 
to make him happy. - Mary at this time found an unexpected 
cause for joy and satisfaction. The Marchioness de Verneuil 
became deeply enamoured of the young Prince of Joinville. He 
paid her his addresses, and the fair Marchioness looked forward 
to marrying the Prince ; but the latter, suddenly and with- 
out any apparent motive, withdrew his suit. The real motive. 



/ 



338 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

however, was his love for Madame de Villars, who was indeed 
the most lovely and witty, and, at the same time, the most 
virtuous lady of the court. This infidelity did not affect the 
Marchioness so much as the circumstance that her being for- 
saken was publicly known ; but the most unfortunate part of 
the business was yet to come. 

^ -- At this period it was fashionable among young men of rank 
to offer some sacrifice to their mistresses. Madame de Villars 
demanded of her lover the letters of the Marchioness de Ver- 
neuil, to whom she bore the most inveterate hatred. The mo- 
ment she was in possession of these documents, she showed 
them to the King. Henry was indignant at this proof of 
perfidy in his fair mistress, and instantly flew to his friend Sully 
at the Arsenal, to relate what had passed, adding a number of 
anecdotes which Sully knew better than himself. Had he then 
urged his master to get rid, once for all, of the Marchioness, 
Henry would no doubt have gained domcFtic happiness ; but 
Sully endeavoured only to pacify the King. 

" But, Sir," said he, '' you surely will not condemn the 
Marchioness unheard ?" 

" If I listen to her,''' replied Henry, " she will certainly prove 
to me that I am in the wrong. Nevertheless, I will see her, 
and show her the proofs of her perfidy." 

The Marchioness de Verneuil was too much accustomed to 
such quarrels to be alarmed at the King's anger. She main- 
tained that the letters were forged, and that the Prince of Join- = 
ville had only wished to perform an act of vengeance. She ap- 
pealed to Henry himself — was he not aware of the character of 
the Guises ? In short, Henry, who had not anticipated the 
sort of defence she would make, left her, not only appeased^ 
but more deeply enamoured than ever. .ca.r t- 

Notwithstanding the turn which this affair had taken, Mary 
was satisfied : her rival had been humbled, and that was all she 
could expect. Besides, for a few months past, the Queen ap- 
peared to take more interest in state affairs ; she conversed 
more frequently with the ministers. Father Cotton, a Jesuit, 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 339 

and Henry ""s confessor, seemed more especially the object of her 
predilection. A Jesuit, at all times, is desirous of enjoying 
the confidence of a Queen, and a sort of religious intimacy 
soon took place between Mary and Father Cotton, which might 
no doubt liave proved beneficial in any other place but 
Henry''s court. 

At this period, the King''s whole attention was directed to- 
wards eradicating in France, and especially at his court, that 
policy to which the Concini had been gained over by Spanish 
gold. He endeavoured to make the Queen adopt his views. 
He was also desirous of attaching the Protestants to France, 
and Mary clearly announced that she would persecute them as 
Queen Catherine had done. 

But the current news of the day ought to have made Mary 
shudder at the very name of Spain. Numerous reports of con- 
spiracies against the King were prevalent at Paris, and it was 
generally believed that the prolonged stay of Don Pedro of 
Toledo was connected with some dark plot. A general uneasi- 
ness seemed to pervade the whole community. The court itself 
was changed, and it was evident that even the council was 
swayed by foreign influence. Everything bore a sombre aspect, 
and seemed to indicate that some great misfortune was at hand. 
But the most striking change was in the King. Henry, natu- 
rally lively, frank, and open, became morose and silent, conti- 
nually seeking solitude ; and when, in his conversations with 
Sully, he unbosomed himself, it was only to talk of his 
approaching death. 

Sully, however, was not long in ascertaining the true cause of 
the King's despondency : it was love which caused the disorder 
that seemed to threaten Henry"'s life. Mademoiselle de 
Montmorency was the object of this new passion, and when she 
learned it, she said to Sully : 

" You see, it is not my fault if peace is not an inmate of 
this palace." 

Concini, Vinto, Guoi, and Gioanini, excited the Queen by 
their perfidious counsels. Aided by the gold of Spain, they 

2 B 



340 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

spread the greatest distress throughout the country whose" 
treasure they were consuming. At first they cautiously and 
stealthily proceeded, but as they gathered strength, they gi-a- 
dually became bolder, and at length, like the serpent, they 
closed upon their prey when they had decoyed it within their 
folds. History has nevertheless proclaimed that Mary was 
ignorant of all these proceedings. 

Henry, notwithstanding his undaunted courage, was strongly' 
tainted with the superstition of his age. The numerous pre-^ 
dictions, under every form, and in every language, which Spai^ 
had caused to be spread, announcing his death at fifty-eight years 
of age, made him involuntarily tremble at the fate which seemed^ 
to hang over him. The judgment of Providence ready to be-,, 
executed appeared to haunt him everywhere, and he often mevL-ri 
tioned this agonized state of mind to Sully, who plainly saw and-> 
deplored his master's -sn-etchedness. 

There was a woman named Pasithee, who had long dwelt iiir 
France, but was then in Spain, and corresponded regularly with^ 
the Queen. This creature had induced the Queen to insist uppa^ 
the ceremony of coronation. Since that demand Henry had no 
peace until he promised it should take place, although he was 
about to engage in a war, and it appeared not only useless, 
but even injudicious. «• 

" I have no inclination to have the ceremony performed,'^ 
said Henry to his faithful minister, " and if my wife persists in^ 
her demand, as likewise in her wish for the return of that, 
enthusiast, we shall surely quarrel. '' 

But Mary still persisted, and at each refusal, a paroxysm of 
jealous fury, directed against the young Princess of Montmorency,. ^ 
proclaimed the discord that reigned at the Louvre. Meanj^'hile^r, 
she gave another proof of her obstinacy, by obtaining for thes Duke 
d'Epernon, her attendant and favourite, the entree of the palace 
in his carriage, under pretence of gout ; and also the privilege 
of being carried by his own servants to the Queen's apart- 
ments, where he used to play at cards with her at all hours of the 
day. His advice was as dangerous to Henry as that of the 



MARY OF MEDICIS. ^ ' 341 

Florentines, and had he been so inclined, he might no doubt 
have prevented every thing that occurred. 

It was then that the famous affair of the Prince of Conde 
took place. Two thousand crowns given by the King for the 
wedding suit, diamonds to the value of eighteen hundred livres, 
the most costly plate, — all this was strong evidence to the na- 
tion of the passion entertained by the King for the bride. The 
Prince of Conde and the Queen made so much stir at court that 
the King became offended. The Queen''s anger knew no bounds, 
and the Prince loudly talked of vengeance. 

On the SOth November 1609, the King was playing at cards 
at the Louvre with Marshal Bassompierre, D'Elbeve, and a few 
others, when intelligence was brought that the Prince of Conde 
had just fled on horseback, taking his wife with him. The King 
said to Bassompierre in a low and faltering voice : 

" Bassompierre, I am a lost man, Conde- has taken his 
wife with him for the purpose either of murdering her in a 
wood, or of conveying her out of France — take care of my 
money, I must go and obtain farther particulars. "''' 

Henry then left the apartment. A few minutes after, he 
commanded the Marquis of Praslin to fetch Sully. It was 
then midnight. When Sully arrived he found the King in 
the Queen's chamber pacing up and down in silent agitation. 
M. de Sellery, M. de Villeroy, M. de Gevres, M. de la Force, 
Lavarenne, and some other noblemen, were present ; all were 
standing against the wall and scarcely even dared to whisper to 
each other. 

" Well," said the King to Sully, with a short and tremulous 
accent, " he is gone, and has taken all with him ! — Well, what 
say you ?" 

" That your Majesty cannot be surprised at it."' 
*^' Iiknew you would say that ; but what is to be done .J^" 
" Nothing, Sir." 

" What do you mean by nothing ?" cried the King, angrily. 
" Sir, there are diseases the only remedy for which is quiet, 
/ahd this is one of them." 

2b2 



342 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

'' *'No, no,"' said the King, with a singular expression, ''I 
\vill have satisfaction of the petty prince who shall dare to give, 
an asylum to one of my fugitive subjects, who is at the same time 
first prince of the blood royal of France. Praslin shall set out 
instantly for Brussels, shall he not ?'' continued Henry, taking 
the Queen's hand. 

" Yes, certainly," replied the Queen, who could scarcely 
conceal the joy she experienced under an expression of pity which 
she endeavoured to assume. 

Mary had adopted the plan of dissembling with the King, an 
advice given to her by the Duke d'Epernon, and which had pro- 
duced this apparent reconciliation. Leonora Galigai, on the 
contrary, always instigated the Queen to open and violent 
measures ; but the Duke, with more sagacity and prudence, 
calculated the chances of future success. 

The Marquis de Praslin repaii-ed to Brussels, and the Arch- 
duke replied by appealing to the law of nations, which he no 
doubt would have been the first to violate had it suited his 
purpose. Henry then determined to carry off the Princess of 
Conde, and the Marquis de Coeuvi-es was sent to Brussels for 
this purpose. But the Queen, who had lately gained Henry's 
confidence by appearing to spnpathize with him on this occa- 
sion, sent a courier to the Marquis of Spinola at Brussels, who 
immediately placed the Princess in the Archduke's palace. The 
plan thus failed, and the negotiations with the Archduke were 
resumed with increased activity. Henry was at that time pre- 
paring for war, and it has been asserted that his real object was 
to deliver the Princess. But this is not true : Henry had a 
higher aim, though it is possible his passion for the Princess 
accelerated his departure. 

At this juncture, INIary, instigated by her wily counsellors, and 
prompted by her own ambition, became more and more urgent 
in her entreaties to be cro^vned Queen of France, and declared 
regent during the King's absence. Henry, at length, over- 
come by her repeated solicitations, granted both requests. The 
unbounded joy which she felt was marked by such a display 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 343 

of love and affection towards lier husband, tliat it is impossible 
to conceive she could have Jiad. any part in tke frightful murder 
perpetrated soon after. rfrr? ov?- 

The King now took the necessary measures for his departure, 
and at the same time settled the mode of government during his 
absence. The Queen was declared Regent, but could conclude 
no act without the co-operation of her council, composed of six- 
teen members. These were Cardinal de Joyeuse, du Perron, 
the Dukes of Mayenne and Montbazan, Mai'shals Brissac and 
Fernacques, Messrs. Chateauneuf, de Harlay, de Nicolai, de 
Chateauvieux, de Liancourt, de Gevres, de Meaupeau, de Pont- 
Carre, and two others. The powers of this council were also very 
limited. 

Meanwhile, preparations for the ceremony were carried on 
with great activity at St. Denis. The Queen, blinded by 
the excess of her joy, did not perceive the extraordinary melan- 
, choly of the King; but it did not escape the affectionate 
gi solicitude of SuUy. Henry being pressed by this faithful 
%o minister to declare its cause, owned that the secret terror 
he felt had its origin in the prediction that he should die at 
^ the first public festivity. Independently of this prediction, 
made to the King himself, accounts were received from all 
quarters of conspiracies against his life. A w^eek before he was 
murdered, a courier passing through Liege for Germany, an- 
nounced that he was the bearer of the intelligence of Henry'*s 
death. A letter was found upon the altar of the high church 
of Montargis, in which it was said, " that at length the King 
was to die."' And every one, even the friends of the intended 
victim, remained silent and inactive ! It is impossible to ac- 
count for this seeming indifference to the safety of a monarch 
beloved, nay, adored by his subjects. 

^...-rj^i^t the most extraordinary thing was %e presentiment) which 

^.continually haunted the King himself. It pursued him even 

during his sleep; and this intrepid and undaunted warrior 

trembled at the unknown hand raised against his life. All the 

iX^n^oirs of the day mention the King's repugnance to the 



344 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Queen's coronation. On the lOth of May he repaired to the 
Arsenal, and seating himself upon his favourite low chair, re- 
mained some time without speaking. 

" How I dread this coronation," said he at length. " I 
' know not how it is, but something tells me I shall meet with 
an accident." Then rising in the greatest agitation, he ex- 
claimed : " I shall die in this city ! I shall never leave it. 
—They will kill me. Ah ! cursed coronation, thou wilt 
cause my death !" 

" Good God ! Sir," said Sully, " if the thought of this busi- 
ness torments you, break it off. If such is your wish, it shall be 
quickly done. The war — your intended departure ; — say but the 
word, and the coronation — everything in short shall be put off." 

" Yes," said Henry, "let me hear no more of the corona^: 
tion. I shall at least feel my mind easy." -i^ 

" Well, then," returned Sully, " I will send to St. Denis to 
put a stop to the preparations." 

" Good ; but," added the King with a sort of hesitation, 
" my wife is singularly bent upon this coronation. She must 
herself be made to feel the necessity of our determination." . 

Sully repaired to the Louvre, but at the first word upon 
the subject, the Queen rose from her chair, and haughtily 
asked if it was really the King who had thus retracted his word ;v 
"• and nothing," says Sully, " could induce her to consent to 
the coronation not taking place." The minister's entreaties 
lasted THREE ENTIRE DAYS. Hcury, on learning the ill-success 
of his mission said : nil wins 

" Well ! let us hear no more of it. God's will be done !" 

At length the ceremony of the coronation took place in the 
church of St. Denis. The pomp displayed upon this occasion 
surpassed everything hitherto seen even in France, where the 
magnificence and splendour of public festivals were carried to an 
extent unknoAvn in other countries. The Qreen, covered with 
diamonds, and habited in the mantle of royalty, appeared more 
beautiful than ever. Her stately person struck e\'ery one 
with feelings of reverential love ; and the King himself, who 



MARY OF MEDICIS*. >. 344 

witnessed the ceremony from one of the galleries, said, tliatp 
he had never seen any one sq beautiful as the Queen hk A 
wife. ,^fTf>[eaqR .r t-y^jftMrn 

Cardinal de Joyeuse officiated. Every thing went off ad- 
mirably, and when Henry returned to the Louvre, his dismal 
forebodings had left him. His attentions to the Queen were 
most affectionate, and he repeatedly declared to her, that if 
she were not his wife, he would give all he possessed to gain 
her lo.ve. 

During the succeeding night, Henry was suddenly awakened 
by the Queen who was violently sobbing. On inquiring the . 
cause of her grief, she told him, still trembling from the effects p 
of her dream, that she thought that as they were descending 
the staircase she heard a scream, and on rushing forward, found 
that Henry had just been stabbed by an assassin. ;j 

^^^-^'Gtod be praised!" exclaimed the King, " it is only a 
dream." 

This incident was sufficient to renew the terrors which 
haunted the King's mind, and which the splendour of the 
recent ceremony, and the return of peace to his domestic circle, 
had momentarily banished from his thoughts. He now in- 
voluntarily recollected what others had also remarked : that 
Mary's shield, instead of being argent according to the arms 
of the house of Medicis, had been painted, through ignorance, 
of a " chesnut colour, a sign of widowhood ;" and that instead of 
palms, the painter had surrounded it with " Franciscan girdles 
entwined, another sign of widowhood." 

On the Friday morning Henry rose early, and his forebodings 
seemed to distress him more than ever. The Queen entreated 
him not to go out that day. M. de Vendome, who entered at 
this moment, added his entreaties to those of Mary. But 
Henry seemed anxious to conquer his gloomy anticipations. 

" Come, come," said he gaily, " you have been consulting 
the almanack, or else you have seen that foolish old cousin of 
mine, De Soissons. I tell you he is an old fool, and young as 
you are, you are scarcely wiser. Let us talk no more nonsense. 



346 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

but go and offer up our thanksgivings for the events of yes- 
terday."" 

-■.He went to hear mass at the Feuillants, where the monster 
Ravaillac was waiting for him, and would undoubtedly then have 
executed his dreadful project, had not M. de Yendome, on 
entering the church, placed himself by the King's side. 
;,: Henry returned to the Louvre, and after dinner endeavoured 
to seek some repose ; but sleep had fled from him, and on in- 
quiring the hour, he was told it was four o'clock. He then 
ordered his carriage, intending to go to the Arsenal, where Sully 
was confined by illness. Ravaillac was at the bottom of the 
great staircase, and hearing the King give his orders, said in a 
low voice : 

" I have thee now. Thou art indeed lost.'' '" 

As the K^ng was getting into his carriage, M. de Vetry 
begged permission either to accompany him, or to give him his 
guards ; but Henry refused both. He asked the day of the 
month. One servant replied the 18th, another said the 14th. 
The King smiled soiTOwfully : ^ ©emg. 

" Between the 13th and the ILth !" he muttered, and imme- 
diately gave orders to proceed. 

Sully was expecting the King at the Arsenal, when he heard 
the Duchess his wife utter a piercing shriek, and exclaim: 
, '• The King has been murdered !'"* 

It was indeed- but too true. The country had lost its 
father. •^•^' ^^"^ visM 

The Queen was in her closet when she received the dreadful 
tidings. She rushed out in despair, and meeting the chancellor 
who was coming to her, she cried : 

" Ah, sir, the King is dead !" 

'' Your Majesty will pardon me," replied the chancellor ; 
" in France the King never dies." 

The Duke d'Epernon, that haughty favourite of Henry III, 
who still wished to command under another reign, now a^ 
proached the Queen. He no longer appeared an infirm man 
who could scarce! v move without assistance : he had noAv dis- 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 347 

carded his infirmities, assumed merely to deceive the penetrating 
eyes which surrounded and observed him. 

" Madam,"' said he to the Queen, in a haughty and com- 
manding tone, '" banish all uneasiness — you are regent."' And 
taking with him two hundred noblemen, and a whole company 
of the regiment of the guards, he repaired to the Petits 
Augustins, where the parliament had assembled in haste, and 
forced it to ratify the Queen's regency; thereby recognising the 
right of that body to nominate a regent, whilst in fact such right 
can belong only to the States General representing the nation. 
The parliament declared Mary absolute regent, without a 
council of regency; and on the following day she went " to 
the parliament with her son, to have the decree acknowledged 
and confirmed." 

/ Though Mary of Medicis was acknowledged regent, she was 
I not sovereign of the kingdom. She surrounded herself with men 
odious to the nation, and not only removed Sully from all 
participation in public affairs, but even took no pains to dis- 
guise the hatred she bore him. She now committed every 
error that could tend to the misery of France and to her own 
destruction. 

Wholly wrapped up in the Concini, she allowed them to do 
what they pleased, and their cupidity was boundless. The 
Duke d'Epernon, nurtured in sedition, brought disorder and 
confusion into the state; and in the course of a few months, 
Mary lavished upon her rival favourites and creatures the riches 
which the prudence and skill of Sully had amassed for the 
benefit of the nation. France was very soon taught that the 
prosperity and glory of a country may depend upon the virtues 
of one man. 

This became evident during the first year after the death of 
Henry ; and at a later period of French history:, in 1 81 5, the same 
thing was proved. The princes who had been protected by Henry 
IV were slighted ; the kingdom was torn by civil dissension 
and religious factions, and France declined in power. The 
country was again laid waste bv revolted troops headed by 
haughty and discontented nobles. 



348 LIVES OF CELEBUATKD WOMEN. 

Mary''s capacity was not of a nature to qualify her for govern- 
ment, especially at siicli a turbulent period. She gave herself 
up entirely to the councils of Goncini and his wife, who, indeed 
possessed talents far superior to those of their sovereign. She 
assembled the States General, which was a measure of great 
imprudence at that time, w^hen the supreme power had been 
delegated by them, and they could therefore annul her regency 
and appoint another. The States General, however, instead of 
adopting the measures which circumstances required — instead of 
impressing upon the Queen the necessity of governing in ':a^'. 
manner worthy of her dignity, occupied themselves with uit-iC| 
meaning frivolities, and ended their session by confirming^ air; 
decree of the parliament, which recognised the afosolui^ ijnM^? 
pendence of the crown. '^-^M t^Bcfyr f^woq 

The most extraordinary measure of this assembly was the Tieis^'^^ 
Etat demanding a renewal of the law which declared that m>(i 
spiritual nor temporal power had or could have a right to di's-;i 
pose of the kingdom, or to release subjects from their alle- 
giance, and that the opinion that kings might be killed was 
impious and detestable. ^-i 

This proves the good-nature of the States General. . i/i^ 

■ France now became a prey to intriguing foreigners. Con-' 
cini, certainly the most able, was invested with almost su- 
preme power by Mary, who raised this unworthy favourite 
to the dignity of Marshal of France, though he had never been 
a soldier. The Parisians, with their usual levity, contented 
themselves with throwing ridicule upon this monstrous abuse of 
power ; but the indignation of every virtuous citizen and friend-- 
of his country was roused to the highest pitch. ■:-;•> 

The nobles of France, disgusted with the Queen's measur^y-:- 
rose in open revolt. The Prince of Conde, son of the prince of 
that name who had gained the battle of Coutras with Henry IVi, ^ 
was imprisoned in the Bastille. When this became known i& ■> 
the Guises, they, who had hitherto been the inveterate enemies 
of the Condes, leagued themselves with that family. The Duke 



MARY OF MEDICIS.' 2;W1JI 349 

of Vendome, son of Henry IV., tlie Duke de Nevers, Marshal de 
Bouillon, and a great number of the most powerful nobles of the 
kingdom, raised an army and marched towards Paris. Marshal 
d'Ancre (Concini), certain of the Queen's support, levied at his 
own expense seven thousand men, marched against the malcon- 
tents, and by unparalleled good fortune succeeded in keeping 
them in check and maintaining his power. 

Concini had however a dangerous rival in the Duke d'Eper- 
non, who exercised over Mary the ascendency of a strong mind. 
He acted like one conscious of his power, and who oifers his 
protection. His influence was such that Henry himself had 
always shown great caution in his conduct towards this haughty- 
noble. After the King's death, the Duke d'Epernon by his sole 
power made Mary regent ; and setting Concini and his wife 
at defiance, he disgusted the Queen by his haughty and insolent 
bearing. His conduct was near kindling a civil war. The Protes- 
tant nobles shut themselves up in their towns, and the people ; 
ev€ry where seemed preparing for rebellion, when a foolish quarrel , 
between two soldiers was near bringing the nobles and parliament 
in collision. Such an event could not have occurred under a 
King like Henry and a minister like Sully : but the weakness 
and incapacity of the Queen were ill calculated to prevent these 
outrages. 

A soldier of the regiment of guards had killed one of his 
comrades in a duel. The Duke d'Epernon, who was Colonel- 
General of the infantry, had jurisdiction to try the offender; 
but as the men had fought upon a domain belonging to the 
Abbey of St. Germain-des-Pres, the Abbot, jealous of his pre- 
rogatives, claimed the sole right of administering justice in this 
case. He had the man arrested by his bailiff, and in order to ob- 
tain the requisite evidence, his officers seized the body of the slain 
soldier. The Duke d'Epernon asserted his right ; the Abbot re- 
fused to accede to it, and was the more determined in his refusal 
because, as a churchman, he could not deny himself the pleasure 
of trying a military offence ! Upon a second refusal of the 
Abbot, the Duke, little accustomed to resistance to his will. 



350 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

broke open tlie prison and carried off the prisoner, together with 
the dead body. The Abbot complained to the Regent, who 
imprudently supported the Duke's pretension. The parliament 
summoned the Duke to appear at its bar, and the Queen dared 
no longer to interfere. 

Though the Duke d'Epernon conceived himself insulted, he 
did appear, but attended by five hundred armed gentlemen. 
When the judges saw him thus escorted, they withdrew; but in 
so doing were obliged to pass through a double line of young 
officers, who smiled sarcastically as they passed, and tore their 
gowns with their golden spurs. ,,.rf 

The Queen did not venture to blame the Duke, neither did 
she dare to support him against the parliament. By the advice 
of Concini, who thought that cunning could effect that which 
Mary's fear prevented her from attempting, she issue^t a 
proclamation under the royal signet, forbidding the parliaiuent 
to continue its proceedings, and commanding the Duke to 
attend in person at its bar, and make a suitable apology. Tjie 
Duke repaired to the parliament, attended with a more oDfi- 
merous retinue than before, and assuming a most deferential 
bearing, bowed his head to the ground and said : 

'' Gentlemen, I beseech you to forgive a poor captain of 
infantry, who during the whole of his life has applied himself 
more to act well than to speak well.'' 

This example shows that in those days laws were not made for 
the powerful. The Duke d'Epernon always set them at defiance. 
About the same time the Duke, indignant at seeing the Chaii- 
cellor du Vair assume precedence of the peers of France, 
one day took him by the arm, and making him suddenly:^ turn 
round, harshly addressed him in the following terms : , ^ ^fp jo,u 

" Stand back, Sir !; a plebeian ought not to forget hinise}f^"f 

The Duke d'Epernon now formed a privy council for Maiy, 
composed of the Jesuit Cotton, the Pope's Nuncio, Concini, whom 
it was impossible to exclude, and himself. This council, composted 
of men, all of whom were suspected of being acces^j^^cj^^Jie 
liorrible murder of the 10th of May 1610, did Mary. an. irrep^- 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 351 

able injury, as she was already implicated, in the opinion of 
the nation, in this diabolical act. She was no doubt innocent ; 
for it is impossible to conceive that the wife who had a few 
hours before lavished every expression of tenderness upon her 
confiding husband, could have been an accomplice in his murder. 
Meantime, Mary removed Advocate-general Des Juteaux 
from the office of preceptor to her son, Louis XIII. Henry 
IV had confided the care of the Dauphin'^s education to this 
c Enlightened magistrate; but it was the policy of Concini and 
'^'Of the Duke d'Epernon to reign as long as possible in the 
name of the Regent, and the health only of the heir to the 
throne became an object of their solicitude. Th^ cultivation of 
his mind was abandoned to those who knew but too well how to 
fulfil their master's wishes. Louis was suspicious, melancholy, 
^' timid, and totally devoid of generous qualities. Utterly incapable 
^^%f -Application, his education was entirely directed to frivolous 
^'^ur^uits. Music, painting, and hunting, were his only studies, 
• and his amusements consisted in playing the horn in the Tuile- 
ries gardens, beating the drum, building small huts, which he 
called, fortresses, and catching birds. Such were the occupa- 
tions of Louis XIII, and his mother remained an unmoved 
spectatress of the degraded state of the future King of France. 
Weak in his intellects, he gave himself up to favourites ; but 
inconstant in his attachments, he not only abandoned them 
without cause, but ruined them, and even sometimes had them 
hanged, without appearing affected at their fate. He had some 
transient love passages, which may appear surprising, when the 
gloominess of his temper is considered. 

His mother countenanced this infamous education, thinking 
that she reigned in his place, whilst in reality she was governed 
by Concini and the Duke d'Epernon. These two men divided 
between them the millions amassed b^'H^iiry during the pru- 
dent administration of Sully. All offices, places, and honours 
were bestowed upon the creatures of these unworthy favourites ; 
and when Louis, after he became of age, demanded any ap- 
pointment for his protege'es, he met with a refusal in these terms : 



35^ LIVES OF CELEDRATED WOMEN. 

*' I have promised it to Mai-shal d'Ancre."' ■ ed 

'Louis had also a great infirmity. He stammered very mucli,' . 
which increased his natural timidity ; and yet no king ever held 
so many "beds of justice." But it must be added, that after the 
first sentence he invariably said — 

" I have ordered my chancellor to explain my intentions to 
you;' 

Louis XIII was brought up to fear and even hate his mo- 
ther, and more than once he showed the real state of his feeling^' 
towards her. But Mary did not perceive the gathering storm r 
she was satisfied with seeing him occupied at some trivial gamef; ' 
and left him, to play herself at the greater game of royalty, in 
which, however, though ignorant of it, she played only a subor- 
dinate part. ^' 

Among the King's favourites, was a young foreigner, named 
Charles Albert de Luynes, from Avignon, who had gained 
Louis's good graces by his dexterity in training magpies to catelr^ 
sparrows, which was the King's favourite pastime. This youri^^ 
man gave way to the ambitious hope of supplanting MarshlP^ 
d'Ancre, and saw that the only chance he had of succeediri^J^' 
was to make Louis reign instead of his mother, and assume^- 
that power to which, being of age, he was now entitled. 

The Marshal, to oblige the King, had given to M. de Luynes 
the government of Amboise, and the latter saw no better method 
of furthering his design than to get Concini assassinated, and 
the Queen banished. It was not difficult to persuade the King 
to perform this act of severity towards his mother, whom he hated ? ' 
and the plan once formed, Louis the Just, so called for no othe^^^ 
reason than because the sign Libra appears in the almanack M-^ 
the head of the month of February, signed the order for the ^'^ 
murder of his prime minister. nusao-j 

On the 17th of April, 1617, as Concini was passing the "|)efi-'^^ 
manent bridge that led to the drawbridge of the Louvre, in his*^ 
way to the Queen, he was attacked by Vitry, captain of th^'^" 
King's guard, who shot him with a pistol. Duthallier, Vifry's"'^ 
brother, inflicted upon him several wounds with his sword, aftej^ 



MARY OF MEDICIS. ^ 3i53 

he had ceased to exist. They immediately cried " Long live 
the King !" as if a great victory had been obtained ; and Louis 
XIII appearing at the window said. : '/? 

" Thanks to you both — I am now truly King.""' 

He gave to Vitry the baton of Marshal of France, vacant by 
the death of Concini, who was secretly buried at St. Germain 
TAuxerois. The people having learned this, assembled at ten 
o^clock at night, and excited, no doubt, by the recollection of 
the late Marshal's crimes, dug up his body, dragged it through 
Paris by torch light, tore out the heart, and, not satisfied with 
this, they actually roasted part of the flesh upon charcoal and ate 
it ! The remains of the mutilated corpse were suspended upon 
a gibbet. Concini's widow was also arrested and not allowed 
to communicate with any one. 

The Queen was confined to her apartment and deprived of 
her guards. The bridge which led from her closet to the Tuile- 
ries garden was broken down by order of M. de Luynes. She 
heard the vociferations of the populace trampling upon the life- 
less body of her favourite, and she every moment expected the 
same fate. Some of her attendants having come to say that they 
knew not how to break the news of Marshal d'Ancre's death to 
his wife, Mary exclaimed in a rage : 

" Does she not yet know it ? I have cares enough of my own. 
If you cannot tell it to her, then sing it to her. I warned them 
of their fate. Let me hear no more of these people." 

Leonora Galigai, Marchioness de Concini, was accused of Ju- 
daism, witchcraft, and sorcery, and condemned to be beheaded 
and burnt on the Place de Greve. The new favourite, de 
Luynes, who coveted the immense wealth of the Concini, or- 
dered the parliament, without even giving himself the trouble to 
consult the King, to proceed against the late Marshal and his 
widow. But Concini's body could not ^f^^xpp^Ufse be found, on 
account of the atrocities already mentioned, which harmonised 
well with those of the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and that 
of the 2nd and 3d of September 1792, but were by no means 
consistent with the character of mildness and humanity so loudly 



354 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

claimed by tlie French nation. With regard to Leonora GaligaY, 
it is impossible not to pity her. She was an unworthy favom-ite, 
no doubt, and enriched with the wealth of the nation. In pros- 
perity, she was proud, supercilious, and full of caprice. But 
these are not crimes to be punished with a horrible death. She 
was, however, accused of witchcraft, found guilty, and burnt. 
Her property and that of her husband were confiscated and be- 
stowed upon M. de Lu^-nes. 

The Queen's departure was already determined upon, ^Ndien 
the death of Concini took place ; but it was necessary to 
obtain the King''s consent. The new favourite soon convinced 
the youthful monarch that the good of the state required his 
mother's exile to Blois ; but it was resolved that this exile should 
have the appearance of a voluntary departure, and that Louis 
should take leave of his mother before witnesses. The very 
words they were to say to each other were an-anged beforehand 
and learned by heart. The sufferings of the proud and haughty 
Mary were intense. She submitted, however, to the despotism 
of her son, and when she appeared in the King's chamber, she 
commenced the preconcerted dialogue by " Asking pardon of 
the King, her son, for not having governed his kingdom accord- 
ding to his pleasure during his minority," and concluded by 
"assuring him that she was his very humble subject and ser- 
vant." The King, in his tui*n, repeated the lesson he had got 
by heart, which consisted only of a few words. He expressed 
" his satisfaction of her administration of public affairs," thanked 
her for the care she had taken of the kingdom, and assured her 
that he " shouM always remain her devoted son." After this 
they separated, the son to return to his birds, the mother to 
proceed to her place of exile. ISIary shed not a tear during this 
extraordinary interview, although her heart was full even to 
bursting. 

After the Queen's departure, De Luynes assmned the entire 
management of the state, and though quite destitute of talent, 
governed ^vith a rod of iron. France had never yet been sub- 
ject to so severe a yoke. Concini had been raised to the rank 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 357' 

/ ^he was killed at the siege of Montauban, on the 15th of De- 
cember 1621. . 

Mary^s triumph was now complete ; but whilst she thought 
her power the most secure, an influence which it had been im- 
possible for her to anticipate, and which had grown up under 
her own immediate protection, soon showed itself in its true 
colours. Richelieu, feeling his immense superiority over the 
Queen, was unwilling to divide with his weak-minded protectress 
that authority which was the object of his ambitious hopes, 
and having gained the King's favour, he became the enemy of 
her to whom he owed everything. 

She felt the Cardinal's ingi-atitude more deeply because she had 
been obliged to use every means in her power to conquer the aver- 
sion which Louis XIII at first entertained towards him. The re- 
laxed morals of the prelate particularly offended the young mo- 
narch, who was indignant that a prince of the church should dis- 
guise himself as a cavalier for the purpose of indulging in love 
adventures. To overcome her son's dislike, Mary had recourse to 
the influence of La Vieuville, who at that period exercised the 
greatest influence over Louis, to obtain for the Cardinal a 
seat in the council : M. de Monschal, Archbishop of Tou- 
louse, states that Richelieu swore friendship and fidelity to La 
Vieuville upon a consecrated Host. The Queen wrote to Louis 
to thank him for having obtained for her favourite what she 
wished. 

"The Cardinal," she stated, " will only appear now and then 
at the council board." 

The first few months after Richelieu's admission into the 
council passed without anything remarkable ; but the Cardinal, 
hitherto humble and retired, soon appeared in his true character. 
Louis, weak both in body and mind, incapable of applying 
himself to business, needed a prime minister who took upon 
himself the cares of government. Had Mary possessed ta- 
lent, she might, perhaps, have succeeded in determining the 
King in her favour ; but the transcendent abilities of the 
Cardinkl obtained an easy victory over the weak and vacillat- 
ing^ policy of an ambitious but shallow-minded woman, who 

(i> c Q 



358 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Vasiea Her energies in artifice and intrigue, whilst her powerful 
adversary consolidated his influence by real services, the nature 
and extent of which the King had just sufficient judgment to 
appreciate. The revolt of the inhabitants of Rochelle was one 
of the causes of Richelieu''s elevation, by affording him an oppor- 
tunity of displaying the resources of his comprehensive mind, 
of which he gave an instance in the first peace concluded with 
the Huguenots. 

The Cardinal's enemies now began to attack him on all 
sides, especially since the Queen had imprudently declared 
against him. Gaston, the King''s brother, and the young 
Queen, Anne of Austria, wxre among his most inveterate 
foes. Richelieu, at first, appeared to take little notice of the 
cabal against him ; but, watching his opportunity, he soon 
wreaked vengeance upon his adversaries. The Duke de Mont- 
morency was deprived of his rank of admiral, and doomed 
to expiate with his life his opposition to the revengeful pre- 
late. Two sons of Henry, who had resisted his authority, were 
imprisoned in the Castle of Vincennes. Omano and Chalais 
paid the penalty of their rashness for joining in the plots against 
the cardinal-minister : the former was beheaded — the latter died 
in the prison of Vincennes. The Count de Soissons, implicated 
in the conspiracy, fled to Italy. The Duchess de Chevreuse, 
who had refused to listen to the CardinaFs love, also fled from 
Paris ; but, being pursued by the guards, she saved her life by 
swimming across the Somme. * The King's brother was treated 
as a criminal. Anne of Austria, being summoned before the 
council, was obliged to sign a declaration confessing her guilt. 

Richelieu's power and vengeance struck terror into those op- 
posed to him. Louis XIII lived in continual fear of his bro- 
ther, his wife, and his mother ; for the Cardinal had tKe''W'1?o 
make him believe that his death was intended by the cbnspi- 
rators. Louis, nevertheless, began to feel the iron yoke of his 
minister ; but the latter knew how to keep him in subjec- 
tion by threatening to throw upon his shoulders the whole bl^- 
tlien of public affairs, which his natural indolence made hint Mr. 

During the expedition to Rochelle, in 1628, the Cardinal, in 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 369 

order to soften the Queen-mother, had her appointed Regent. 
This act was sufficient to win back her regard, which was, how- 
ever, but of short duration. After the reduction of that place, 
the Cardinal returned to Paris, and found the factions of the 
two Queens and Gaston bent upon his destruction. From this 
time a war of extermination was declared between the two 
parties, which could only end in the overthrow of one of them. 

On the 21st of November 1629, Mary resolved to set the 
Cardinal at defiance, and deprived him of his office of superin- 
rt^ndent of her household. Richelieu immediately complained 
tf),^Q King, and easily succeeded in proving to Louis that this 
insult was directed against himself. The result of the con- 
ference was the patent of prime minister, written entirely in 
the King's own hand. The salary was left in blank, that the 
^Cardinal might fill it up with any amount he pleased. The 
iriumph of the ambitious prelate was now complete. Six for- 
tresses which he held, secured him against his enemies. He 
had his own guards, and the splendour of his retinue far sur- 
^pg^sed that of the King's. .,- 

The affiiirs of Europe at this juncture gave the Cardinal an 
Fopportunity of rendering himself truly useful to his country, and 
of consolidating his own greatness. The policy of the court of 
Savoy assumed a doubtful course. Richelieu, in spite of the 
sarcasms which he knew the two Queens uttered against him, 
resolved to go -in person and commence hostilities against that 
i^iountry. The King, in his instructions, gave orders that the 
Cardinal should be obeyed, exactly as if he were " the king 
himself." Richelieu accordingly assumed the duties of Con- 
stable, and having under his orders two marshals of France, 
entered Savoy, and in two days took possession of Pignerol and 
Chamberi. The King then joined the army, accompanied by 
the two Queens, who thinking the opportunity had arrived of 
humiliating their enemy, seemed only to have come to grace his 
triumph. But Louis was obliged to return to Lyons in conse- 
^qn,en(5e of an attack of contagious fever. The minister, leaving 
the Duke de Montniorenci to keep Mantua in check, proceeded 



360 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOIMEN. 

to Lyons, to watch the cabals and intrigues which the dying 
state of his master could not fail to occasion. The Queen- 
mother had already formed the project of marrying Anne of 
Austria to Gaston, after the demise of his brother. 

On Richelieu's return to Paris, he discovered the existence of 
a formidable league against him, formed by the two Queens 
and the Spanish ambassador. Mary of ISIedicis had a second 
time deprived him of his office of superintendent of her house- 
hold. His favourite niece, the Duchess of Acquillon, was 
forbidden to appear at court. In short, by dint of complaints 
and solicitations the Queen-mother at length succeeded in ob- 
taining from her son the removal of the Cardinal from the 
government. The details of the scenes which then took place 
will show the extreme weakness, not to say imbecility, of the 
King. Louis felt how much the fate of France depended upon 
Richelieu, and yet nourished a secret hatred against him. With 
the habitual meanness of little minds, he detested him on 
[-account of his superiority. Whilst the Queen-mother was still 
in conference with her son, w^hose word she had just obtained for 
the removal of the Cardinal, the latter entered the apartment by 
a secret door. The King immediately withdrew. The Queen, 
convinced at length of her triumph, cast a withering look at her 
fallen enemy, and left the room without uttering a word. He 
now saw that he had gone too far in defying his benefactress ; 
he felt regret, but his heart was incapable of remorse. 

Richelieu now made preparations for his departure, and 
placed his immense wealth in safety. Had the Queen appre- 
ciated the power of that man she might have consolidated her 
triumph, by preventing any farther interview between him and 
the King. But the Cardinal, having resolved to make a last 
effort, repaired to Versailles, where Louis was staying on 
account of thelestival of Martinmas, and appearing ^before 
the weak-minded monarch, soon regained his former ascendency. 

" I devote myself to your glory,"' said the wily prelate, "and 
you shamefully abandon m^.t^Ofthose who are mo?;^ jf.QUjc^eaJfiJfties 
than mine." ,r. -i. ,.^. 3^, ;„ . ^ .^.^ ^^^wn^s 

The imbecile Louis, overcome by the CardinaFs reproaches. 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 361 

begged his forgiveness, entreated him to stay, and signed the 
order for the imprisonment of his mother in the castle of Com-^ 
piegne, "where she was awaiting the result of her ill-concerted 
plans. This day, known in history as the "day of dupes,^' is 
perhaps the event in Mary^s life which placed her incapacity in 
the most conspicuous light, and at the same time established 
more firmly the disputed ascendency of the Cardinal. 

The King had abandoned him through weakness, and through 
weakness replaced himself under his sway. Richelieu now exer- 
cised a terrible vengeance upon his enemies. Marillac was 
tried and condemned in the Cardinal's own palace. Gaston, a 
son of the blood royal, was obliged to fly to avoid imprisonment. 
The Queen-consort was a prisoner in the Louvre, the Queen- 
mother a captive at Compiegne. Nothing was^ heard of but 
^torture and executions. Richelieu thus showed Europe, that if 
ne was exposed to insult he well knew how to revenge himself.- 
^^ Mary of Medicis was still confined at Compiegne, under the 
' ^iiard of Marshal d'Estrees. Maddened by the failure of her 
■^^lans, she presented a petition to the parliament of Paris. Her 
son Gaston also presented one, which the first president, Le 
Gay, read to the King, previously to laying it before the 
parliament. He stated that he had fled from France " only 
because Cardinal Richelieu had attempted to have him assassi- 
nated." The King tore it in pieces, declaring it was false and 
calumnious. Had it been read in the great chamber, the parlia- 

■^%ent would have been constituted judges between the presump- 

"'^'tive heir to the throne and Cardinal de Richelieu. Marv's 

^^^etition began as follows : 

" Mary, Queen of France and Navarre, supplicates and says, 
that Arnaud du Plessis, Cardinal de Richelieu, endeavours to 
destroy the health of her son by all sorts of artiflce and malicious 
devices, drawing him by bad advice into war, obliging him to 
appear in person in the midst of armies afl[licted with contagious 
disorders, exposing him to intolerable heat, and filling him with 

'"'Extraordinary apprehensions against his most faithful friends and 
servants, with an intention, on the part of the said Cardinal, to 
appropriate to himself a great part of the state." 



362^ LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

It ended thus : 
■o-f^ The said Queen supplicates you to remonstrate upon the 
scandal caused by the violence which is and may be exercised by an 
ungrateful servant against the person of the said Queen, against 
the honour due to her marriage and to the birth of the King. 
That above all, Mary, Queen of France and Navarre, says, that 
since the 23rd of February 1631, she has been arrested and con- 
fined as a prisoner in the castle of Compiegne, Avithout having 
been accused or suspected. She therefore demands justice 
against the said Cardinal, who disposes of the wealth of the $tate 
in violation of all the laws. And she calls your attention to other 
facts which are known to you, and are publicly known to the whole 
kingdom. By acting as prayed you will do justice. Mary." 

But in this, as in every other circumstance of her life, Mary 
could not keep within the bounds of prudence necessary to CQp.-, 
tend with a man like Richelieu. Her complaints were scarcely 
attended to because they were too violent ; and besides, they con- 
taiiied many falsehoods as well as truths. By her clamours, r§k^ 
destroyed the interest she might otherwise have raised. yQ-..^(f ^jgg 

As an answer to these complaints, Richelieu made the "King 
create him Duke and Peer of France, and Governor of Brittany, 
as a reward for his successes in Germany, Italy, and Flanders. 
Richelieu^s glory was that of the French nation ; this was the 
real cause of his faults being overlooked. 

The situation of Mary of Medicis became now one of danger. 
The Cardinal no longer mentioned her; but his very silence; 
prognosticated the fate he reserved for his former benefactress. 
Private intelligence was soon conveyed to ^lary that her life was 
in jeopardy ; and on the 18th of July she received a note, bearing 
no signature but the handwriting of which she recognized, 
warning her of the peril which threatened her if she remained 
any longer at Compiegne. She therefore resolved to quit France 
immediately. The note was from Anne of Austria. The danger 
was therefore certain, and Mary resolved to spare her weak jai^4in^ 
fatuated son the crime of parricide ; for his arm directed theMow.^ 

On the 18th of July 1631, at ten o'clock at night, Mary of 
Medicis, the widow of Henry the Great, fled from Compiegne 



MARY OF MEDICI S. 363 

through a secret gate which led to the forest. She was accom- 
panied by some of her maids of honour, and by Lamarure, 
lieutenant of her guard ; a©di te left behind all her friends in 
capti\ity, unable to do anything for them except recommend- 
ing them to her son, to whom she wrote. But what could be 
expected from a son who thus abandoned his own mother to the 
vengeance of a vindictive priest ? 

Mary arrived at Avesnes on the 20th of July. The Marquis 
de Crevecoeur, governor of Hainault received her as a sovereign 
allied by friendship to his master, and immediately sent forward 
the Baron de Quepe to Brussels to inform the Archduchess 
Isabel of the Queen's arrival. Isabel came to meet her at 
Mons, rendered her every honour due to her station, and offered 
her the entire disposal of the Catholic Low Countries. She then 
conducted her to Brussels, where Mary enjoyed for a time the 
poftap and splendour which gave such irresistible charms to 
power. But it was not in Richelieu*'s character to let his ven* 
geance slumber. On learning that Mary preferred humbling her- 
self before Spain and Austria to making her peace with him, te# 
i^ed to persecute her to the last day of his life. He seized 
her dower and her estates in France, and to give a colouring ta 
this spoliation, he accused her of having bribed one Father 
Chantelouse, a priest of the oratory, to murder him. 

Mary very soon felt the effects of the CardinaFs threats, and 
was obliged to leave Brussels. She then proceeded to Holland ; 
but the difference of climate and customs induced her shortly to 
quit that country, where indeed she was not secure from the 
persecutions of her vindictive enemy. She then came to Eng- 
land, hoping to find at least a safe refuge at her daughter''s 
court ; but here the influence of the revengeful prelate was again 
ftBf¥^fie was everywhere hated, but everywhere feared. Mary 
reifeived the honours due to her rank^^'^S&t^I Ml -assistance was 
refused her. Obliged at length to quit England, and unable 
to go to Spain or to return to Holland, on account of the 
CardinaFs influence in those countries, she found an asylum at 
Cologne, where she could at least terminate her wanderings. But 
here the unfortunate Queen was attacked with the disorder which 



36^ LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

put an end to lier life, and Mary of Medicis had scarcely pecu- 
niary means sufficient to afford herself proper advice and treat- 
ment. Such suiFerings might have sufficed for the hatred of any 
other enemy but Richelieu : his vengeance could only be satisfied 
by the entire destruction of his enemy. 

Mademoiselle Lafayette, maid of honour to the Queen-con- 
sort, was now the King's mistress, and Anne herself favoured 
this intrigue in hopes of obtaining Mary's return. Father 
Caussin, the King's confessor, was in the confidence of Anne' ' 
of Austria, and directed by his councils the conduct of the^^ 
young favourite who was in the interest of the two Queensi'"- 
It was not long before Richelieu became aware of this new 
plot against him. Mademoiselle Lafayette, alarmed at the dis- 
covery, entered a convent, and the confessor was banished td/- 
Lower Brittany.--- ^^-K'' : ' ^----i '^^^-■■-- :.^^:omt>ipw 

Mary, on learning the failure of her last hope, fell dangerously'^ 
ill ; but she still retained sufficient courage to take a part in the ' 
conspiracy of Cinq-Mars, which, if it had succeeded, would have 
amply avenged all the cruel affronts she had received. But the 
unhappy woman was not only deprived of health, but her pecu- 
niary resom'ces began to fail. This Princess, who had brought 
a marriage portion of six hundred thousand crowns, and diamonds 
and jewels ■svt>rth three millions more — who had founded two 
hospitals, and several charitable institutions, was dying in a 
foreign land in a state of indigence. And this Princess was the. 
mother of the King of France, and three of her daughters had 
married kings I In the winter of 1642, she again experienced 
an attack of dropsy ;'1but her sufferings were long and acute,' 
and on the 3rd of July 164S, after a long delirium, Mary of 
Medicis was released from all earthly pain. She died five months 
before Cardinal de Richelieu, and nine years before her son. 

Louis was returmiig-ffom Taraseon, where he had been to see 
the Cardinal who was dangerously ill, when he learned th6 
death of his mother. He showed signs of the most lively grief, 
and caused a magnificent service to be performed for her in th^' 
church of Tarascon. Mary's remains were conveyed to France td 

be interred at St. Denis. - . ..^ -^:. -^ -^ 

:•] i9>54ioi on bvBil ysiii i>fl^ 



MARY OF MEDICIS. 365 

Mary of Medicis was weak, jealous, ambitious, and fond of ^ 
power and splendour ; but was devoid of talent, and totally 
incapable of governing. Justice compels me to add tliat she 
had a noble and benevolent heart, and a cultivated mind. She 
was a generous patroness of the arts, and in this respect was a 
worthy daughter of the Medicis. , ; She bestowed a pension of 
five hundred crowns on^Malherbe, richly rewarded Rubens and 
Labrosse, and founded several useful institutions. Notwith- 
standing the civil wars which desolated France under her reign, 
that urbanity, which during two centuries has been the charac- 
teristic of the French, began then to distinguish this nation. 

It is difficult, in reading the history of Mary of Medicis, to 
decide which was the most unhappy of the three — -the Queen, 
her son, or his minister. The Queen, long an outcast and a 
wanderer, died poor in a foreign land. Her son, the sovereign 
of one of the finest kingdoms in Europe, found the cares 
of royalty too much for him. Of a sickly constitution, and a 
gloomy and suspicious disposition, he stood in fear of his wife 
and mother. His cold and selfish heart never felt the blessings 
of love. Louis XIII, despised by the nobility, who looked 
upon him as the vain shadow of a monarch, detested by the peo- 
ple, who thought the curse of heaven was upon him because he was 
childless, was reduced to envy the fate of the meanest of his subjects. 

Richelieu was, perhaps, the most unhappy of all. Hated and 
feared, he was constantly obliged to guard against conspiracies 
to take away his life. JThe Cardinal, probably, never enjoyed a 
quiet night's rest during the fourteen years of his administra- 
tion or rather of his reign. He was ungrateful, tyrannical, am- 
bitious, implacable, cruel, and brave. But it must be admitted 
that he was great and even sublime in his projects for the good 
of his country. He restored dignity and energy to the royal 
authority, which had become an object of contempt through the 
imbecility and baseness of his predecessors. He was the first 
who waged war against the Protestants as enemies of the state. 
During thirty years, they threatened the very existence of the 
throne by their factious spirit. Richelieu attacked them as a 
statesman, and not as a religious fanatic ; the warfare was at least 
regular, and they had no longer to fear the stake or the scaffold. 



366 LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 

Richelieu has been justly accused of despotism ; but the times 
in Avhich he lived must be taken into consideration. It was ne- 
cessary, above all, in restoring tranquillity to the kingdom, and 
making the French nation respected abroad ; it was also necessary 
in order to crush the factious spirit of the turbulent aristocracy 
which threatened to invade the King'^s authority ; and he had 
no other means of succeeding, than strong and decisive measures. 
Imprisonment, banishment, and even death were the only wea- 
pons with which he could combat the haughty and turbulent 
spirit existing among the nobles of those days. 

The only one of Richelieu's acts that can admit of no excuse, 
is his unrelenting persecution of his benefactress. Mary of Me- 
dicis, it is true, through her incapacity and restless spirit, twice 
placed France on the brink of ruin ; but Richelieu might 
have constrained her by the mere force of his powerful mind : 
he ought to have removed her from all participation in public 
aifairs ; instead of which, he himself made the King appoint 
her regent during the siege of Rochelle. 

The miserable state in which the widow of Henry IV ter- 
minated her eventful life, will ever be a stain on the memory of 
this great statesman. When the remains of the exiled Queen 
arrived in France, public sympathy was roused in her favour, 
and the nation forgot that, a few years previously, she had been 
accused of plotting, with the Duke d'Epemon, the execrable 
murder of the most beloved of kings. Are we then to con- 
sider Richelieu an instrument in the hands of Providence for the 
punishment of so frightful a crime ? This must remain a mys- 
tery which human penetration can never fathom; therv^fore let 
the unliappy Mary of Medicis have the benefit of this uncertainty. 



/ ^ ^ THE END. 



J3RB ^67 



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